


That Was Now and This is Then

by hollycomb



Category: South Park
Genre: Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Consequences, M/M, Moresomes, Multi, Orgy, Reunions, Thanksgiving, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-16 15:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 57,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2275539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollycomb/pseuds/hollycomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Token comes back to South Park for Kenny's funeral and all is not well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is so weird, but I still like it and now intend to finish it. I've plotted out the final two chapters and I'm posting what I have so far on AO3 to motivate myself to finish them this month. 
> 
> The prologue was written as a kink meme fill and was not intended to be serious, or to be Token/Clyde, but it evolved that way and it ends on such a down note that I decided to make this a sincere story arc and do a sequel. I'd given up on it, but I went back and reread it recently and there's a lot of stuff in the sequel that I like, particularly Butters sort of raising Cartman's child, who inadvertently killed Kenny by playing with his dog on some train tracks and needing rescue. Also, this is my favorite Craig I've ever written.

They've all known each other since diapers, but Token is the only one who can actually read Craig's extremely subtle moods, which is ironic, because he's also the only one who doesn't suck Craig's dick on a regular basis. Sometimes he thinks the fact that they don't do the casual fooling around thing makes them the closest in their already extremely close-knit group, because it's easier to just crawl into someone's lap and get intimate in a saliva swapping way than it is to have a meaningful conversation, especially when Craig is involved.   
  
Craig starts acting weird around Christmas break, when Token gets his early acceptance letter from Northeastern. Tweek has applied to about eighty different schools, convinced that he won't get in to any of them, and Clyde has applications out to a couple schools in Colorado, more concerned at the moment that he won't graduate high school, though his grades really aren't that bad. Craig has applied to only one college: CSU, where his mom teaches history courses on Greek mythology. Token is fairly sure that their potentially diverging futures are the source of Craig's current state of weirdness, and he's touched, but also annoyed. He knows Craig doesn't like to be confronted about anything, ever, and especially about his _feelings_ , but by New Year's Eve things have reached a breaking point. Craig walked out on Christmas with his family to spend the night in Clyde's bed, made Tweek go to day-after-Christmas door busters with him even though Tweek hates crowds and Craig hates shopping, and now he's bitching at Token for wanting to attend Bebe's New Year's Eve party like they do every year.  
  
"I hate that fucking party," Craig says. They're at Token's house, and Token is supposed to be getting ready, but he's being blocked from his closet by Craig, who has literally thrown himself in front of it to keep Token from picking out a shirt. Token is bigger and stronger than Craig, and he could easily move him away if he wanted to, but that would only be dealing with the more immediate problem, not the larger issue here.  
  
"You need to calm down," Token says.   
  
"I am calm." Craig glares at him. His hands are braced on the sides of Token's closet door frame, his grip so tense that his knuckles are white. "I just don't want to go to that fucking party. Okay? Is that so wrong? I mean, who there do we really want to see? Why don't we just stay here and like, hang out? Your parents are in Denver, Clyde is bringing vodka, Tweek is bringing danishes. We could watch Anderson Cooper."  
  
"You hate Anderson Cooper."   
  
"So? Clyde likes him."  
  
"Since when are you willing to do something you hate just because Clyde likes it?"  
  
"Since always."  
  
Token rolls his eyes at that blatant lie. He feels sorry for Craig, and it's not like he can't relate to this sort of panic about how things will change. Craig is particularly invested in their little group, since Tweek and Clyde openly worship him. They respect Token, and they're just as willing and eager to do sexual favors for him when the evening takes that sort of turn, but Craig is their mini deity, and not just because he can shoot lasers out of his eyes under the right circumstances. He's everything that they're not: stoic, controlled, quiet, confident. At least, he's got them fooled into thinking he's confident. Token knows better, and that's why Craig's recent clinging is sympathetic in addition to being irritating.  
  
"Fine," Token says. He can hear Clyde's car in the driveway. He was kind of looking forward to Bebe's party, their last New Year's Eve party as high schoolers, but it won't be their last party as high schoolers period, and next year they'll all be home from college during New Year's Eve, anyway. "We can stay here, if Clyde and Tweek want to."  
  
"Oh, God, you know they will," Craig says. He grins. "So. Thanks."  
  
"Don't say I never did anything for you," Token says. He pokes Craig in the stomach, and Craig does the bashful averted eyes thing that he only ever does with Token. With everyone else he just stares, often doesn't even blink.  
  
As Craig predicted, Clyde and Tweek are all too happy to spend the night just hanging around Token's house. Token's parents are at a New Year's Eve gala in the city, and they've got a hotel room for the evening. Though nobody has brought supplies for spending the night, Token is sure that everyone will end up sleeping here, in boxers and t-shirts, spread across his super deluxe king sized bed. Clyde and Tweek will tangle themselves around Craig, and when he gets hot and shoves them off they'll make themselves comfortable on Token, who will spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling and sighing. Clyde's nose whistles and Tweek has nightmares that make him twitch, whimper, and rend the clothing of whoever he's clutching. Craig is the only quiet sleeper, go figure, so far over on the other side of the bed that he might as well be in a separate room.  
  
"What are your New Year's resolutions?" Clyde asks when they're playing pool down in Token's rec room, all of them a little drunk already, three hours to midnight. Tweek is in sex kitten mode, pawing at Craig, and Clyde is in endlessly asking stupid questions mode.   
  
"I don't know, man," Token says. "Pass all my classes in my first semester at college, I guess."   
  
"That's so boring," Craig says, slurring. Tweek is gnawing on Craig's ear lobe, and Craig has an arm around Tweek's waist but is otherwise ignoring him. "You're so boring, Token."  
  
Token gives Craig a look and drinks more beer, way too sober to get into this again. He's already let Craig drag him into his weird triangular scene with Tweek and Clyde after accusing him of being 'boring' for only getting with girls. Token didn't think that was fair, considering what he'd put up with over the years. The summer before high school was when most of the weirdness started, and Craig was the instigator, of course. Token had always been shy and a little cautious when it came to sex, probably because of the trauma associated with _Backdoor Sluts 9_ , but he was as scandalized as Craig and Clyde when Tweek admitted to them during truth or dare that he'd never jerked off.   
  
"What if I go blind, or my palms get hairy, or I die while I'm doing it and that's how my parents find me, with my hand down my f-fucking pants! Ah!"  
  
That sort of thing. They all tried to assure him he'd be fine, and when that didn't work Craig decided Tweek needed to do it right then, in front of them.   
  
"If you die we'll take your hand out of your pants for you," Craig said. "We'll tell them you just had a random aneurysm."   
  
His response to Tweek's hysteria has never been to coddle him, and somehow this approach always works. That afternoon, he managed to get Tweek into his lap with his legs spread, Clyde and Token watching with their mouths hanging open while Craig reached into Tweek's pants to demonstrate technique. Clyde came in his pants without even touching himself, and Token nearly did just from seeing that. Tweek survived his first orgasm and tipped his head back onto Craig's shoulder, panting and red-faced, wanting to be kissed so badly that Token actually got mad when Craig didn't do it.   
  
"Kiss him," Token had said, frowning at Craig, who looked up at Token with surprise and then did as he asked, kissing Tweek until Clyde did this involuntary whimper thing that actually made Token want to kiss Clyde, which didn't happen until three years later. He's had Clyde's and Tweek's mouths around his dick, and he's kissed them both, though he's not really attracted to Tweek and kisses him less often. He's never fucked any of them, and he's never kissed Craig. These two facts keep him clinging tenuously to the idea that he's not actually bisexual or anything. He just has weird friends and likes having his dick sucked.  
  
"I'm gonna get another beer," Token says when Craig hoists Tweek up onto the pool table and settles between his legs to kiss him deeply, trying to become the center of attention. It's working for Clyde, who is staring at them, not bothering to conceal the fact that it kind of crushes him every time Craig touches Tweek. Token has never liked that Craig pretends not to know this. He hooks his finger through one of the belt loops in Clyde's jeans and pulls him toward the stairs. "C'mon," he says, and Clyde's smile is so sweet and real that Token forgets that Clyde is in love with Craig for two seconds. So maybe he actually is a little drunk.  
  
"So what's yours?" Token asks when he and Clyde are up in the kitchen, popping the caps off two of Token's father's fancy imported beers. The vodka was gone by eight-thirty.   
  
"My what?" Clyde asks. He's lingering close, wanting to be kissed. Token wants to not be annoyed by the knowledge that this is a reaction to whatever's going on downstairs, but he does have some pride.  
  
"Your New Year's resolution," Token says.   
  
"Oh." Clyde looks down at his beer bottle. "I dunno. To graduate."   
  
"Clyde, Jesus. Of course you're gonna graduate. Why are you so worried?"   
  
"I have to pass that math class –"  
  
"Aren't you using those programs I wrote for you?" Token asks. His major at Northeastern will be computer science. He's got Clyde's scientific calculator rigged like a motherfucker, but Clyde gets intimidated by tests and forgets how to use cheats properly. He's not stupid, he just thinks he is, which is a huge handicap, more important than actual intelligence or lack thereof.  
  
"I'm using them," Clyde says, but he's blushing, which means he's lying. He doesn't want Token to think he's too dumb to know how to use the cheats, so he won't ask for help. Everything about Clyde is a vicious cycle, and Token knows this shouldn't make him swoon in and press Clyde against the kitchen counter, but it does, and once they're pressed together Token figures he'd better just kiss him. Clyde sighs into Token's mouth and puts his arms around him, kissing back. Token can feel Clyde's beer against his side, cold through his shirt. Clyde is a better kisser than the five girls Token has been with since elementary school, which sucks, 'cause he's a guy, but whatever.  
  
"Craig's so freaked out," Token says when Clyde is nuzzling at his cheek, because he might as well talk about Craig, since that's probably who Clyde is thinking about.   
  
"Freaked out?" Clyde says, and the nuzzling stops. Clyde has brown eyes, and Token thinks gray and blue and even green are overrated, because nothing conveys selfless concern as well as brown eyes, or as well as Clyde's do, or something.  
  
"About all of us going off to college," Token says. "He thinks he's going to lose you." And Tweek, but Clyde will appreciate being singled out. Clyde groans and leans against Token, hugging him. They're basically the same height, almost the same weight, and Token should be more attracted to Tweek, because he's more like a girl, but Clyde's solidness has always been more his thing.  
  
"I'm freaked out, too," Clyde says. "Mostly that I won't be going anywhere."   
  
"You will," Token says. He kisses Clyde's temple and hugs him, rubbing Clyde's back with his beer-free hand. "You'll probably get a damn athletic scholarship, shit."  
  
Clyde snorts and pulls back to smirk at Token like this is an insane line of thinking. They both play hockey, but Clyde is actually good. Token used to joke about it, saying that Clyde was only better than him because he's white, but he knows the real reason Clyde is the best hockey player on their team. He's a defenseman, and he likes getting the shit kicked out of him. Hence being in love with Craig.  
  
"I just hope I can get into CSU," Clyde says, because that's where Craig is going, and Token has enough self respect left to let go of him then. It's good timing, because Craig is coming up the stairs, pulling Tweek along with him.  
  
"What are you guys doing?" Craig asks, and there's accusation in it, like everything Craig says lately. Token is just waiting for him to completely lose it and accuse them all of abandoning him. Tweek is supposed to be the needy one, but that's why Craig loves the kid and built this whole dysfunctional empire around him: Tweek is Craig's emotional scapegoat. He freaks out so that Craig doesn't have to.  
  
"We were just getting beers," Token says, lifting his in demonstration. He can feel Clyde staring at him, but he doesn't look back. "What were you guys doing?" he asks, to hurt Clyde, and then he feels bad, so he looks at Clyde, but Clyde is watching Craig now, waiting to hear him answer that question.  
  
"Nothing," Craig says. He goes to the fridge and scowls at the selection of beer. "Can we raid the liquor cabinet?" he asks.  
  
"No," Token says. "My mom will notice if something's missing."  
  
"We could just try a little of everything," Craig says. "Please? C'mon, it's New Year's."  
  
"I'm sure Bebe has plenty of booze at her party," Token says.   
  
"So why don't you just go there and fuck her?" Craig says, explosively angry in half a second flat, though his expression is still neutral and his voice retains its nasal monotone. His tell is his right eye, which twitches once, twice. "Go pound Bebe's snatch in exchange for a bottle of Captain Morgan or something. That's good, that's a great plan."  
  
Token drinks from his beer, bored by Craig's prolonged meltdown. He wishes he could be bored by Craig himself, but Craig has been the one exciting thing Token has known in South Park. He's going to have a lot of opportunities and see a lot of things, but he's never again going to be thirteen, sitting around during an otherwise normal day and watching a kid who should be as young and scared as the rest of them suddenly offer everybody in the room a sexual education. So maybe there is something to Craig's confidence, or maybe Token is just drunk. He kills his beer and goes for another.   
  
"What, you're not going?" Craig says. "Not going to screw Bebe for a free drink?"  
  
"Nope," Token says. Has he had sex with Bebe? Yes. He regrets telling Craig, who took it personally, not because of the sex itself but because Token liked and continues to like Bebe. Most of his other exes get on his nerves: Wendy is slightly psycho, Annie dumped him for a pothead townie, Lola called him Richie Rich as an obnoxious endearment and then as an insult, and Jessie wrecked his car. Bebe is still cool, and good in bed, but has taken a vow of chastity because the assholes at school made her feel guilty for liking sex enough to approach it the way most of the guys do. She's probably Token's best friend, and he's really glad she's going to college in Boston, too.   
  
"Can I raid the bar, then?" Craig asks.  
  
"I said no." Token had a hard time with that when he was younger, because most people in South Park look at him like he's an asshole just because his parents have money. He was always giving everybody permission to walk all over him, lest they think he was a snob, which is maybe why he let Craig stroke Tweek off in front of him that day, but he's gotten better about saying no in the past couple of years, because he might be rich by the happy accident of being born to rich people, but he doesn't owe these motherfuckers anything.   
  
"Fine," Craig says, and he gives Token the heavy-lidded look that he thinks is seductive, but only when he's drunk. "So what now?"  
  
"Drink a beer like a real man," Token says, because he's feeling mean tonight. Tweek giggles nervously, then wilts. Clyde is staring at Token again, maybe. Token is afraid to look and find out that he's not.  
  
Craig takes his shirt off, naturally. He starts unbuttoning his pants, and Token laughs, because he's a phony, too, still pretending Craig can't shock him.   
  
"Let's go swimming," Craig says, in his boxers now. "The pool is heated, right?"  
  
"You know it is." Token feels like they're going to fight, but maybe Craig thinks they're going to fuck, which is hilarious. Token goes for another beer, and he gets one for Clyde, too, without meaning to. He hands it to Clyde without really looking at him. Craig is already walking out to the pool deck, and Tweek is following, stripping, leaving his clothes behind in a trail that looks like a crime scene.  
  
"It's cold out, though," Clyde says, quietly.  
  
"Well, it's December," Token says, like that was a dumb observation. He turns back to Clyde and sighs. Clyde is the only person in South Park who can still make Token feel guilty. Token pulls his sweater off, then his undershirt, and unbuttons his jeans. "But he's right, it's heated," he says, stepping out of his jeans.   
  
"Yeah," Clyde says, and he's so drunk, bleary, but sometimes Clyde seems this way without even a sip of beer, like life is moving at one speed and Clyde is moving at another. Token never thought it made him seem dumb. It makes Clyde seem honest, like he's always seeing a side of South Park that the rest of them are too self-involved to notice.  
  
The pool smells like it always has, chlorine and childhood, pine trees raking through the air overhead and dropping their needles into the water. Token sticks to the cooler water in the pool, though it's not cold, not hardly, just cool when compared to the attached jacuzzi, where Clyde and Tweek are huddled against the wind. Token and Craig, who have something to prove to each other, apparently, are doing laps in the big pool, pretending not to notice the freezing wind that blows steam over the surface of the water. They're racing, but discreetly, and laughing when they look up to check the other's position, acting like it doesn't matter.   
  
"Fuck global warming," Craig says when they meet in the middle, treading water, their limbs throwing weird shadows against the underwater lights. "It used to be colder."  
  
"What, when we were ten?" Token is panting, tired. They had hockey practice this morning. He knows Clyde is tired, too, and he feels like he's doing this so Clyde won't have to, showing off for Craig.   
  
"Yeah," Craig says. "When we were ten. When shit was like, real."  
  
Token laughs at this drunk asshole, though he's drunk, too, and an asshole. He floats on his back and looks up at the stars that are pale against the light pollution. Craig hovers, and Token knows that he's waiting to be told what to do next, that he's been waiting since they were eight years old.   
  
"We should go in," Token says, and there's water in his ears, but he knows how Craig is going to respond. Craig wants to go in, to get to the good part. Craig wasn't there for _Backdoor Sluts 9_ , didn't volunteer to take that bullet. He doesn't know what it means to push what good means until it's not good anymore. Token is glad that Craig doesn't know that, because Craig would take it harder than any of them. He rights himself and treads water again.  
  
"Let's go in," he says, and he beckons to Tweek and Clyde, because he knows it will piss Craig off when they dash for their towels and then the house. He smirks at Craig as Tweek and Clyde hurry back into the central heating, but Craig doesn't look mad.   
  
"This is what I always wanted," Craig says, and Token sometimes wishes that he wasn't the one Craig shows his sentimental side to when he's got his guard down, but then again, who the hell else could handle this? "Just, here at your house. Away from everybody who, like. Doesn't get it."  
  
"Nobody gets it," Token says, and the water pushes him closer to Craig, or maybe it's just time. He puts his hands on Craig's hips, and tells himself that he never knew it would be like this, like the anxiety-producing mystery of a girl times a thousand.   
  
"We should go in," Craig says, and he's openly scared, so Token nods and pulls him toward the expensively tiled stairs.  
  
Inside, Clyde and Tweek are toweling off, shivering, making a dramatic production of their chattering teeth. Craig goes to Clyde and takes over, rubbing Clyde's towel over his shoulders, pulling him close to warm him up. Token and Tweek stand there watching, both stunned, though when Token thinks about it, of course this is Craig's response to what happened in the pool, which was nothing really, just Token's hands on Craig's hips.  
  
"I'm gonna light the fire," Token says, walking into the living room with his towel slung around his shoulders. His boxers are wet and quickly growing uncomfortable. After the gas fireplace has roared to life at the press of a button, Token sheds his boxers and wraps his towel around his waist. He doesn't need to look up to know that the others have done the same, so he stands at the mantle and watches the fire until they're all crowded around his shoulders. He allows himself a glance at Clyde's nipples, his tongue moving over his teeth at the sight of them, hard and tight and surrounded by tiny goosebumps. Clyde makes the most excellent little noises when someone plays with his nipples, like it hurts to be so sensitive.   
  
"I'm just gonna have one drink from the liquor cabinet," Craig announces after they've all been staring at the fire for a few seconds, the mood turning a bit grim. "Your mom will never notice, I promise."   
  
"You know what," Token says. "Knock yourself out."  
  
He's aware that one drink will become many, but he joins Craig at the bar, mixing himself a rum runner. Craig drinks gin and Tweek sips raspberry liqueur. Clyde just stands there looking cold. Token gets the big cashmere throw blanket from the sofa and wraps it around Clyde, avoiding his eyes. Clyde has a bruise on his collarbone from practice today, and Token wants to lick it, and push his fingers against it, just gently, just enough to show his appreciation for Clyde's bruiseability.  
  
"So, we're all naked," Craig says.   
  
"Oh, God." Token moans, pretending he wasn't waiting for Craig to point that out. His eyes creep up to meet Clyde's, and Clyde steps closer to him, hugging the blanket around himself, his towel dropping to the floor.   
  
"D-do you guys want some danishes?" Tweek asks, fidgeting. "They're not that stale today."   
  
"Tweek," Craig says, rolling his eyes. "No."  
  
"I'm gonna sit by the fire," Clyde says. "I'm freezing."   
  
"Let's all sit by the fire," Craig says. He makes himself another drink. "The night is young."  
  
"What does that even mean?" Token asks, laughing as he follows Clyde across the room. He's hard under his towel, just halfway, but Clyde already feels like the room's real heat source.   
  
"Oh, nothing," Craig says, adding more gin to his glass.   
  
"Craig is wasted," Clyde says, smirking. He sits down on the carpet near the fireplace, and Token sits behind him, spreading his legs around Clyde, pulling him against his chest. Clyde moans happily and leans into it, cuddling up and closing his eyes. His hair smells like jacuzzi water.   
  
"Don't go to sleep," Craig says, jostling Clyde with his foot before sitting down beside them. He makes no attempt to retain his towel, brazenly showing everyone his cock when he sits. Tweek sits down and crawls into Craig's lap, looking nervous but hopeful.   
  
"I'm so tired," Clyde says, mumbling. He rubs his cheek against Token's chest, sighs, and moans when Craig kicks at him again.  
  
"Stop it," Token says. "Let him sleep if he wants to."  
  
"Jesus, no! It's still two hours from midnight. Clyde, come over here and suck me off if you need something to keep you awake."  
  
"I'll do it in a second," Clyde says, his eyes still closed. He gets heavier against Token's chest, and Token feels like he's won an epic battle. He hams it up, stroking Clyde's hair and grinning at Craig, who scowls.   
  
"I'll suck you!" Tweek says, tugging at Craig's arm. "If you want?"  
  
"Well, frankly," Craig says, his eyes still locked on Token's. "I want Token to do it. But he won't."   
  
"Damn right," Token says. He might want to lick Clyde's nipples and put his hands all over him under this blanket, but he has absolutely no interest in sucking anybody's dick.   
  
"No," Craig says to Tweek when he reaches for Craig's cock. "Don't do me. Do Clyde. Go wake him up."  
  
Clyde cracks his eyes open against Token's chest; Token can feel his eyelashes. Tweek approaches cautiously, and when Clyde looks up at Token as if to ask for his advice on what to do next it feels like he's asking Token for permission to get blown by Tweek, and Token's cock is all in now, rock solid against Clyde's girlishly soft thigh.   
  
"You want that?" Token asks, keeping his voice low, matching the volume of the gas powered fire. Clyde blinks and nods, so Token rearranges him, turning him so that his back is against Token's chest, his legs spreading as Tweek opens the blanket. Clyde is breathing hard already, and Token wants to touch his heaving chest, those nipples, but first things first. He takes hold of Clyde's knees and spreads them a little wider, giving Tweek room to settle between them. Clyde is just now getting hard, but it's happening fast, his cockhead peeking out of his foreskin.  
  
"God, Clyde," Craig mutters, sounding impressed, staring. Clyde arches sleepily as Tweek starts licking him, his eyes sliding shut again.   
  
"Yeah," Clyde says, and it's such a tiny thing, an embarrassed expression of gratitude. Token can't wait any longer: he flattens one hand over Clyde's belly and thumbs his left nipple with the other. Clyde moans and arches again. Tweek has him in his mouth now, and he's making contented little noises while he sucks, pointing his ass at Craig as if to beg for some attention there. Token remembers telling Craig to kiss Tweek and laughs under his breath. Clyde looks up at him as if to ask him what's funny.  
  
"You look good like this," Token says, pinching Clyde's nipples until he arches and spreads his legs a little wider. "All, like. Trusting."   
  
"You guys, in this room, you're the only people I trust," Craig says, needing to make this about him. "In the world," he adds, and Token is back to feeling sorry for him. He gives Craig a sympathetic look and holds out his hand.   
  
"C'mere," Token says. Craig looks relieved, then afraid. "Come over here and kiss Clyde for me. I can't reach."   
  
Clyde stares up at Token until Craig is right on top of him, stroking his fingers over Clyde's chest. Then they're kissing, and Token is watching jealously. Clyde's tongue is short and round and cute, and he's such an eager kisser, especially for Craig. Token puts his hand on Craig's back just to see what he'll do.   
  
"God," Craig says, looking up at Token, his eyes muggy. "I'd fucking love it if you fingered me."   
  
Token laughs, his heart beating too fast. Clyde will be able to feel that, against his back. Clyde's hands are braced on Token's thighs, his fingers tightening slightly.   
  
"I don't do the whole ass thing," Token says. "You know that."  
  
"You should at least try it," Craig says. He smirks. "If not on me, on Clyde."  
  
Tweek makes a tired noise and pulls off of Clyde's dick. Everybody is looking at Token now, waiting to hear what he'll say. Clyde scoots up and presses his face to Token's throat.  
  
"You don't have to," he says, whispering.   
  
"I know," Token says. He's flushing, glad for the blanket that Clyde has mostly shed, because it's concealing how hard he is at the thought of touching Clyde - there. Anywhere. "But, I. Do you, I mean. Want me to?"  
  
Clyde moans in answer, and the sound seems to make the air in the room vibrate, moving along the length of Token's dick. He's leaking now, onto the cashmere.   
  
"Only if you want to," Clyde says. He strokes Token's thighs, the lightness of his touch making Token shiver. Craig and Tweek are both watching him, sitting on their knees. Tweek looks nervous. Craig looks pleased, and slightly murderous.   
  
"Wouldn't we need, like. Lube?" Token's face is hot; his whole body is hot. The room is stuffy and everybody is too close, except Clyde, who can never be close enough.  
  
"I'll get lube," Craig says, leaping up. "Tweek, come with me." He grabs Tweek's shoulder and pulls him up, then out of the room, and suddenly Token is alone with Clyde, holding Clyde. It's only happened once before, during an away game last year, when they were sharing a motel room after losing to the Tuscon Gila Monsters in the semi-finals. Clyde blamed himself, though it was the goalie's fault, and he spent the whole night sobbing in Token's arms, telling him over and over again that he was sorry. Token was in love with the big, weepy mess of him that night, but it was an isolated incident. Except that now Clyde is in his lap, turning to face him, and Token is still sort of in love with him, a little. Or just drunk. Yeah, probably that.  
  
"Do you want another drink?" Token asks when Clyde swoons in closer, his legs wrapped around Token's waist now.   
  
"No," Clyde says. "Do you?"  
  
"Nah."  
  
They kiss, and it's like a long drink of water after the desert of watching Craig get to kiss him. Token rubs his fingers over Clyde's back until his goosebumps appear again, and he tugs Clyde's lip between his teeth gently, his other hand wrapping around Clyde's cock. Clyde's foreskin is kind of silky and wonderful, and he gasps when Token strokes it with his thumb.   
  
"Are you really going to do it?" Clyde asks, whispering. Token can't hear Craig and Tweek. He wonders if they're hiding somewhere, spying.   
  
"Yeah," Token says. He moves his hand down to the small of Clyde's back, watching the interest in his eyes thicken. He imagines it dispersing into Clyde's bloodstream, moving through his body like sweet venom, lust paralyzing every other function.   
  
"Why?" Clyde asks. His voice is shaking, just a little. Token shrugs.   
  
"Just want to make you feel good," he says, his fingers tickling down lower, still north of the cleft of Clyde's ass. Clyde sits up straighter and moans. There's something pitying in it, like he feels sorry for Token if that's true.   
  
"I like it even better than getting fucked," Clyde says. He's blushing, holding Token's face while he tells him this.   
  
"How come?" Token asks. Heart pounding, he dips one finger into the cleft. Clyde's breath stops, resumes. When he blinks, it's slow.  
  
"It's like a tease," Clyde says. His voice is so soft that Craig won't be able to hear, even if he is spying.   
  
"You like being teased?" Two fingers now, and lower, just a little.   
  
"Yeah," Clyde says. He breathes out like he's trying to stay controlled, his hips twitching back slightly. "I like it - ah. I shouldn't say."   
  
"Why not?"  
  
"'Cause it's embarrassing."   
  
"But it's just me," Token says. "You know I'd never laugh at you."  
  
"I don't know that," Clyde says, mumbling. "Before-"  
  
"I was laughing because I was thinking about telling Craig he should eat Tweek out," Token says, hurriedly. "Like the way I told him to kiss Tweek. When we were kids."   
  
"I hated you for that," Clyde says, and his eyes get wet so quickly.   
  
"I know," Token says. "But tell me. What you were going to say, tell me what you like."  
  
Clyde blinks once, twice, and the tears are gone. He puts his lips to Token's ear.  
  
"I like it when he holds me open and just blows on me," Clyde says, whispering. "Really soft. Or when, um, he just rubs his cock through my crack until I'm crazy for it. When he makes me beg."   
  
Token groans, aroused and angry, because he doesn't want to hear this about Craig. He's seen this, has watched Craig fuck Clyde. He's watched him draw it out until Clyde is crying almost too softly to hear, has seen Clyde exhaust himself with sobbing. He's seen him beg.  
  
"Is that what you want me to do?" Token asks, the words burning in his chest, cinders between his lungs.   
  
Clyde shakes his head. He shudders when Token drags a finger over his crack, not really digging in, just suggesting that he might.  
  
"What do you want from me, then?" Token asks. Not something he should be asking while drunk, or ever. Clyde sighs and rubs his cheek against Token's.  
  
"I want you to make him crazy," Clyde says. "You're the only one who can."  
  
Craig and Tweek reenter the room, holding hands, Craig bearing the bottle of fancy lotion that they keep in the hall bathroom for guests. Tweek is giggly and pink-cheeked, and his cock is soft, so Craig must have gotten him off while they were away. Token hugs Clyde to his chest as they approach, instinctively, like they've come to reclaim him, which, of course, they have. Clyde mouths at Token's neck, and Token remembers the bruise on Clyde's collarbone. He puts two fingers over it, carefully, imagining he can feel the little hurt spot under Clyde's skin, that extra softness.   
  
"Well, that's progress," Craig says, nodding to Token's other hand, which is spread over Clyde's ass. He hands Token the lotion and rubs his fingers through Clyde's hair. "Shameless little slut," he says, very fondly, leaning down to kiss the back of Clyde's head. It might actually be the tenderest thing Token has ever heard Craig say to Clyde. Craig sits down and pulls Tweek into his lap, settling him back against his cock, which is still hard, or hard again. Token pulls the blanket up and wraps Clyde into it.  
  
"What are you doing?" Craig asks. "Don't hide him."   
  
"I'm doing it this way or not at all," Token says. He's got the lotion under the blanket, and he squirts some onto his hand, slicking his fingers. Clyde watches him do this, his forehead pressed to Token's cheek. He's calm and surrendered, his hands resting on Token's chest.  
  
"How will I give you proper instructions if I can't see what you're doing?" Craig asks. "You've never fingered anyone before. Not - ass-wise, anyway. Clyde is not your personal guinea pig."   
  
"I'm not gonna hurt him," Token says. His idiot eyes actually sting a little when he says so, but it's brief. "You can tell me what to do, and I'll do it. Under the blanket."  
  
"You're so weird," Craig says. He sighs dramatically and slides Tweek off of him, arranging him so that he's on all fours. "Alright, I'll demonstrate on Tweek and you can copy me. Toss me that lotion."  
  
Token tosses it. He's seen Craig finger Tweek dozens of times; for Craig it's like squeezing a stress ball, something he does absently when tense, and Token has gotten so accustomed to it that he'll barely turn his head if Craig puts Tweek over his lap while the three of them are watching TV and digs a finger into him. But suddenly it's the hottest and most captivating thing Token has ever seen in his life, because Craig is telling him how to handle Clyde, giving him permission to want this.   
  
"Now," Craig says once he's slicked two fingers. "Lean him onto your chest and have him lift his ass a little. Good. We're working from slightly different angles here, but the principle is basically the same. Part the cheeks, then get the outside nice and wet. Rub in little circles, see? Like this. That makes them relax."   
  
Token is holding in hysterical laughter. Craig sounds like he's telling him how to bake a pie, full of cheerful authority. Token contains his amusement, because he doesn't want Clyde to think he's laughing at him. Clyde's breath quickens when Token holds his cheeks apart under the blanket, and Token can feel a kind of dizzying heat emanating from between them. They're both sweating a little already, and Clyde is holding on to Token, his arms around Token's back and his head resting on Token's shoulder.   
  
"Like this?" Token whispers, to Clyde, not to Craig, his fingers slipping in to rub lotion into his crack.  
  
"Lower," Clyde says, his voice already pinched. His hands go tense on Token's back as Token follows his instruction. Token holds his breath until he feels the wrinkled skin around Clyde's hole. When he lets his breath out Clyde does, too, his hands twitching. "Yeah," he whispers.   
  
"Congratulations, you've located the sphincter," Craig says. "That's the easy part. Are you doing the circles?"  
  
"Yes," Token says, his teeth gritted. He wishes Craig would shut up for a minute, so he can concentrate on rubbing his finger around Clyde's hole, and the way Clyde has started to tremble and pant.   
  
"Slower," Clyde says. His breath is so hot on Token's neck, and he's drooling a little. "Yeah, like - _unh_. Like that."  
  
Token tries to breathe evenly as he circles Clyde with one finger, slowly now. He's watching Craig do the same thing to Tweek, who has dropped down to rest his cheek against the carpet, eyes closed, ass lifted. He looks incredibly relaxed, like he could fall asleep. For a moment Token thinks Tweek actually is sleeping, but then he makes a contented little noise and smiles to himself.  
  
"Now," Craig says. "Release the ass cheeks. Just bury your hand in there. Bring your other hand up to the back of his neck." Craig doesn't do this with Tweek; he rests his hand on the small of Tweek's back. Token wonders if it's because of their different positions, or if Craig is tailoring his instructions to Clyde's preferences. In case he is, Token does as Craig said, cupping his hand around the back of Clyde's neck, still feeling his hole with his other hand. Clyde is twitching now, sighing.  
  
"If you think he's ready, you can start pushing your finger in," Craig says. He demonstrates on Tweek, who cants back to meet the intrusion, bringing his fist to his mouth so he can chew on his knuckles while Craig penetrates him.   
  
"How do I know if he's ready?" Token asks. He looks down at Clyde. "Are you?"  
  
"Don't ask him," Craig says, groaning and rolling his eyes. "That takes all the fun out of it. Plus, Clyde hates to be asked permission. Don't you?" Craig says, and Token gets the feeling Craig just withheld the inclusion of some sort of pet name that Token and/or Tweek aren't privy to.   
  
"I just - like to stay quiet," Clyde says. His face gets hotter as he says so, and Token gets it, how he doesn't want to talk right now, or explain anything.   
  
"Then how do I know when he's ready?" Token asks, speaking to Craig, who grins.   
  
"You'll feel it," he says. "He'll get all needy and start rubbing himself on your finger. And that's Clyde -" -as if Token has forgotten which one of them he's holding- "so he'll whimper, too. You won't really hear it so much as feel it, low in his chest. Like his ribs are shaking."  
  
Token tightens his fingers around the back of Clyde's neck, and he feels Clyde relax against him in response. Clyde's arms go slack around Token, his hands sliding down to rest against the floor. Token is still rubbing him, his cock throbbing with renewed interest every time Clyde flexes for him.   
  
"Hey," Token says, because he's going to do this his way, not Craig's. He touches Clyde's jaw, coaxing him up, and leans in to kiss him softly, testing to see if he'll like this. Clyde smiles and parts his lips for Token's tongue when he goes in for more. Token feels the whimpering sensation start in Clyde's bones, that deep-set trembling warm against his lips as Clyde rolls his hips back against Token's finger.  
  
"You're so good at this," Token says, trying to whisper the words into Clyde's mouth, where Craig won't hear them.  
  
"At getting fingered?" Clyde says, laughing a little.   
  
"Kissing," Token says. He's afraid to meet Clyde's eyes after he's said so, and he keeps his closed, kissing Clyde deeply, distantly noting Craig's silence.   
  
"So," Craig says when he speaks again, sharply. "Is your finger in yet?"  
  
"No," Token says, though it is. He worked it slow while he kissed Clyde, just up to the knuckle. Clyde is tight and unbelievably hot, squeezing around Token's finger. He pulls back to smile at Token, and it feels like he's complimenting him for lying to Craig.   
  
"Well, get it in there," Craig says. "I don't have all night."   
  
"Don't rush Clyde," Token says, wiggling his finger in a little more deeply as he says so, watching new color bloom onto Clyde's cheeks. "He's not my guinea pig, remember?"  
  
"Yeah, well, he's also not exactly a blushing virgin. You'd faint if you saw some of the stuff I've put up there over the years. He can handle your goddamn finger."  
  
It's the kind of statement that might have been devastating to Token under certain circumstances, but not now, because he feels so connected to Clyde already, touching him in this secret place, naked together under the same blanket. Clyde laughs nervously and Token kisses his nose. He feels Clyde relax around him and takes it as in invitation to slide in deeper. Clyde sighs, his eyes falling shut.   
  
"I take it you're finally in," Craig says.   
  
"How'd you know?" Token is still kissing Clyde's face, where his sweat tastes a little saltier than it did before Token was inside him.   
  
"Because he's making that satisfied slut face," Craig says. "I can see it from here."  
  
"Clyde's not a slut," Token says, moving his finger a little, just a twitch. Clyde gasps and twitches, too, clenching. "He's nice and tight," Token says, petting the back of Clyde's neck.   
  
"Well, I make him do exercises," Craig says, mumbling. He clears his throat. "Anyway. Next step. Watch my finger now. You slide it out slow - see how the inside part sort of clings when you pull it out? Then push it back in. Do that about - ten times. Slow."  
  
"Slow," Token repeats, mocking him, and Clyde laughs again. He's trying to keep his eyes open and having trouble, his lashes fluttering while Token moves his finger very slowly, in and out of that incredible heat. He wants to live in there. Cock-wise. He wants Clyde to sink down onto his cock and stay there all night, wants Clyde to fall asleep with Token still hard inside him.  
  
"How do you like it so far?" Craig asks. He's doing something more advanced with his finger, making Tweek jerk and shout.   
  
"Really good," Token says. He feels dazed, like he's been recently walloped in the head, and he can't believe how filthy and sweet Clyde looks right now. He's seen Craig do this to Clyde a thousand times, but it's different up close. "You feel really good," he says, more quietly, nipping at Clyde's lip.   
  
"So do you," Clyde says, and Token kisses him much too desperately, forgetting that they're not alone, that this is just Clyde's show for Craig. _Make him crazy, you're the only one who can_. Token pulls back and Clyde whines, trying to kiss him again. When he can't recapture Token's lips he settles for his jaw, sucking at the soft skin just beneath it.  
  
"Have you ever felt a pussy that hot or that tight?" Craig asks, eyes narrowing, like this is a threat or something. It's hilarious to hear Craig use the word 'pussy' to refer to a girl's anatomy. He has about as much interest in girls as he does in wholesale sheet metal.   
  
"I don't talk to you about girls," Token says. "You know that." What he does with the ladies of South Park High is strictly confidential, except to Bebe, who gets to hear everything. She doesn't know about this other stuff. She's guessed as much about Craig and Tweek, but who hasn't? Nobody knows that they do their little dance in front of Token or that they include Clyde, but it's pretty common knowledge that their sleepovers are of the nakedly entwined variety.  
  
"Oh, Token, you're such a gentleman," Craig says, and he snorts. "Please. You know, you have a lot of ideas about yourself, Token. A lot of ideas."  
  
"Such as?"  
  
"That you're straight, for one," Craig says. He's smiling, but it's joyless, not even particularly victorious. "That big, hard thing on your stomach right now is Clyde's dick, my friend. That makes him a boy. And I'm pretty sure you want to fuck him more than you want to continue breathing, so, you know. You might want to reexamine your straightness from a more 'you're not' sort of angle."  
  
"Craig," Clyde says, and the way he moans Craig's name momentarily trashes Token's heart. "Shut up."  
  
"Fine, Clyde, I'll shut up," Craig says. His finger has gone still inside Tweek, who is staring at Token and Clyde, his fist pressed over his mouth. "But only if Token looks you in the face and tells you he doesn't want to fuck that ass."   
  
Clyde looks up at Token, and his ass clenches when their eyes meet, which almost sends Token over the edge.   
  
"I'll let you," Clyde says, quietly. "If you want to."   
  
"I'm sure he's shocked to hear that," Craig says. Token wants to tell him to shut the fuck up, but Craig is in some sort of profound pain that Token wishes he didn't give a shit about, hence everything that is happening.   
  
"How about you?" Token asks Craig. He feels Clyde clench again, hard this time, and he can't stand to know what's going on inside him at the moment, so he pulls his finger out slowly. "Huh?" Token says, raising his eyebrows while Craig stares at him, poker-faced as usual. "Would you let me?"  
  
"Are you serious?" Craig says. He forces a laugh that sounds painful. "You're asking to fuck me? You think that would make you less gay than fucking Clyde?"  
  
"I don't really care how gay I am," Token says. "Do you think I would have a naked boy in my lap if I gave a shit about that?"  
  
"So, wait." Craig pulls his finger out of Tweek, who moans and collapses onto the floor, his legs splayed out behind him. "Wait. You're seriously saying you want to fuck me. _Me_?"  
  
"Why is that so hard to believe?" Token asks. Clyde has gone completely still in his arms, like a startled animal who hopes not to draw the attention of a nearby predator.   
  
"You're just trying to make me beg for it or something," Craig says, narrowing his eyes. "Then you can laugh and be like, 'never mind.'"  
  
"Why do you think I'm some kind of enemy?" Token asks. "I care about you, you dumb fucker. I wouldn't do that to you."  
  
It's maybe the one statement that could effectively rip the rug out from under Craig, and for half a second he doesn't even try to hide the shock on his face. His eyes harden again, and he looks away from Token, at the fire.   
  
"Well, we could do it," Craig says. "But I should fuck Clyde, you know. At the same time. And maybe he should be inside Tweek. Yeah. That way nobody is left out."   
  
"No, it should just be you two," Clyde says, and he stands shakily, taking the blanket with him. "Me and Tweek can just watch. C'mere, Tweek."   
  
Tweek hops up and hurries to Clyde like he was waiting to be asked. Clyde folds him into the blanket and brings him over to sit by the hearth. Tweek looks so tiny in Clyde's lap, curling against his chest. Warily, Token meets Clyde's eyes. They're harder and more closed off than Craig's have ever been.  
  
"Okay, so, okay." Craig is on his feet now, pacing, so excited that he doesn't know what to do with himself. Token is already exhausted by the prospect of bringing Craig through this, especially with Clyde watching. He gets up and walks to Craig, who goes still, his chest heaving as Token's hands settle on his hips.  
  
"You don't have to," Token says. "Not right now." He's trying to tell Craig, without saying it out loud in front of the other two, that it could be just the two of them, later, sober. Craig is right about what Token wants from Clyde, though Token doesn't want to fuck Clyde so much as he wants to be inside him, and being inside Clyde while calling it fucking is only going to make things worse, whereas fucking Craig will kill two birds with one stone: Craig will stop acting like a lunatic and Clyde will hate Token forever. It's not exactly a satisfactory solution for Token, but there was never going to be one. He wishes he could be like Tweek, that he could drift like kelp between them, but he can't do that. He has to choose, because Craig is going to make him choose, and if Craig makes him choose Clyde, Craig wins. Token cares about Craig, even loves him, and he thinks Craig is sort of hot in his bony, bright-eyed way, but he's not going to let Craig win, even if that means giving him what he wants.  
  
"No, we should do it now," Craig says, after thinking about this for awhile. He leans into Token's chest and takes a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut against Token's shoulder. Token gives Clyde a last look, imagining that Clyde is on a ship that's pulling away from shore, and that those on the ship will survive while the earth crumbles beneath the feet of the people who are left on land. Clyde isn't looking at him, anyway. He's playing with Tweek's dick inside the blanket, making Tweek hum and fidget happily, his head lolling onto Clyde's shoulder. Token returns his attention to Craig, bringing his hands up to cup Craig's face.   
  
"You tell me what you like," Token says, stroking Craig's cheeks with his thumbs. Craig does the silent whimper thing, his ribs shaking and his mouth twitching.   
  
"Um," Craig says, and the softness of his voice is as powerful as a scream. "I just. Want you to kiss me. A lot."  
  
So Token kisses him, a lot. He can't lose himself in it the way he does when he kisses Clyde, but it's nice, because all of Craig's bite and bullshit evaporates and he's just soft, needy, continuously trying to pull Token closer. Token wants to tell him to relax, that he can't get any closer, but of course that's not true. He pulls back and searches the floor for the bottle of lotion, his eyes skimming over Tweek and Clyde. Tweek is between Clyde's legs now, sucking his cock, and Clyde has his head tipped back against the stone wall beside the fireplace, his eyes just barely slitted. He's watching Token and Craig through his netted eyelashes, pretending not to care very much about how things are progressing.   
  
"You want the sofa or the floor?" Token asks Craig.   
  
"Sofa," Craig says, so Token brings him there, grabbing the lotion on the way.  
  
Nothing about fucking Craig is particularly surprising: Craig is a clinger, a trembler, a breathy gasper. He feels amazing around Token's cock, hot and tight like Clyde felt around his finger, though somehow it's not exactly the same. Token watches Craig ride him, trying to put his finger on what's different. Craig needs him and loves him and looks good doing it, his gray eyes hazy and his chest flushed pink, every rib on fire from within. Token can feel it, that particular fire inside Craig, and it feels good, but not like Clyde's did. Maybe because he feels like coming inside Craig is going to put that fire out, at least temporarily, whereas Clyde is burning all the time, and Token knows that nothing he can do, physically or otherwise, will quench him.  
  
Craig moans Token's name when he comes, wrapping around him and holding on like he plans to stay there for awhile. Token lets him cling, and keeps his eyes shut as he jerks his hips up into Craig, sweaty and close and ready to sleep. He doesn't give himself permission to lock eyes with Clyde over Craig's shoulder when he comes, but it happens anyway. Clyde is unreadable but not quite expressionless, and as Token pumps the last of his orgasm into Craig, his hands soothing over Craig's back, he can't believe he's ever seen Clyde cry, because Clyde looks like he doesn't know or care who Token is. Tweek is cradled in Clyde's arms, fast asleep, as if nothing particularly interesting is going on here.   
  
"Oh," Craig says, recapturing Token's attention. He sits back so they can kiss, whining when Token tries to pull out of him. "Not yet," Craig says, whispering. "Please."  
  
"Alright." Token kisses Craig, wishing he was Clyde, though he would never fuck Clyde in front of these two. He should never have even kissed him in front of Craig. He never should have kissed Clyde at all. It happened on one of those late nights in front of the TV in Craig's basement, when none of them were doing anything except sitting too close, the way they always have. Clyde sighed and rolled his head back onto the couch cushions, and when Token turned to look at him - to make sure he was okay? - Clyde gave him this lazy smile, his eyelids heavy and his skin glowing blue in the TV light. Token didn't mean to kiss him. He meant to smile back, maybe elbow him, but then his mouth was on Clyde's and their tongues were sliding together, and by the time they came up for air Tweek's eyes were as wide as saucers and Craig was scowling like he would have turned a hose on them if he'd had one handy.  
  
"Well, well, well," was all Craig said. Clyde didn't say anything, just slumped over onto Token's chest and fell asleep with Token's arm around his shoulders. Token was sure something - everything - had changed, that he would be gay in the morning and Clyde would renegotiate his friendship with Craig according to his new boyfriendship with Token, but in the morning Craig spread his legs and told Clyde to get sucking, and Clyde did it without blinking. It was the only time Token ever failed to get hard from watching Clyde suck Craig off, and he decided that meant he wasn't gay after all, so no heartbreak necessary, and what a relief.  
  
Eventually, Craig allows Token to gently disengage, and he snuggles up under Token's arm in pretty much the exact same position that Clyde did that first time, three years ago. Token puts a pillow over his lap, suddenly feeling modest, and strokes Craig's hair until he's asleep.   
  
"Should we take them upstairs to bed?" Token asks Clyde. They're only ones still awake, five minutes from midnight.  
  
"I actually think I'm going to go home," Clyde says, doing a good imitation of Craig when he's particularly full of shit.  
  
"No, you're not," Token says.  
  
"I'm not?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
They stare at each other for awhile, and when Token stands, hoisting Craig up into his arms, Clyde does the same with Tweek. Craig and Tweek are shorter, smaller, lighter. If either of them wakes up as they're being carried to Token's bed, they don't give any indication. Craig moans a little when Token is tucking him into bed, and gropes around until he feels Token climbing in next to him. Satisfied, he falls asleep again. Tweek squirms until he finds Craig and glues himself to his back. Clyde hesitates for a moment, then gets into bed with them, though he doesn't move closer.  
  
"C'mere," Token says, reaching for him. Less than a minute to midnight now. Clyde stares at him, half his face hidden by the pillow.  
  
"Why?" he asks.   
  
"You know why," Token says.  
  
Clyde's face is blank, and for a moment Token thinks he's going to carry this act all the way into the new year, but then his lip twitches, his nose wrinkles, and his eyes fill up with tears that spill down his cheeks when he blinks.   
  
"Shh, c'mere," Token says, reaching further, over Craig and Tweek. He still can't get his grasping hand on Clyde, who turns his face into the pillow, his shoulders bouncing with silent sobs. The way he gasps helplessly when he sucks in his breath ignites something primal in Token, something biological and frantic, like someone with his genetic material is in grave danger. He scoots Craig and Tweek across the bed, both of them grumbling but not quite waking, and even then Token can just barely touch Clyde's shoulder with his fingertips.   
  
"I'm sorry," Clyde says, and it's just like that night in the motel room, when Token should have kissed him. He was too afraid that Clyde wouldn't want him unless Craig was watching.   
  
"There's nothing to be sorry about," Token says. "C'mere, c'mon. Get over here."  
  
Clyde scoots over to hug himself around Tweek, letting Token brush the tears from his cheeks. He's still crying, sniffling against the back of Tweek's neck and watching Token with one watery brown eye, the other one hidden.   
  
"Hey, so," Token says, his own voice getting dangerously close to breaking, though he never cries. "Happy New Year. Fuck."  
  
Clyde laughs unhappily. He wraps his arm around Tweek, lets Token lift his hand and kiss his fingers.  
  
"You know what my New Year's resolution is?" Token asks. Clyde sighs wetly, shaking his head.   
  
"What?"   
  
"To kiss you more often."  
  
"That's funny," Clyde says.   
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah, 'cause I'm pretty sure mine is to never kiss you again."  
  
"Well." Token swallows the tightness in his throat, but that just puts it in his chest, where it hurts even more. "We'll see how that goes."   
  
"Yeah, we will." Clyde reaches over to smooth Craig's hair. "You think you know everything," he says, and he's looking at Craig when he says it, so Token isn't sure who he's talking to.   
  
"All I know is I don't know anything," Token says, because that's Clyde's favorite quote. Craig's mother gave him a t-shirt with those words on it, in faux-ancient Greek font. It's some sort of bastardized Socrates quote, something philosophical, but for Clyde it's literal and self-deprecating. "I don't even know who I am without you guys," Token says. He gets his arm around Clyde then, around all of them, hugging them to him. Tweek moans, nuzzling at Craig. Clyde wipes his face on Tweek's hair.   
  
"Then why are you going away?" Clyde asks.   
  
"Because I don't even know who I am without you guys."  
  
"Yeah," Clyde says. "Yeah, I know. I should go away, too. We all should."  
  
But he won't, and Tweek probably won't, either. If Clyde and Tweek don't get into CSU they'll go to some community college nearby, and they'll get an apartment with Craig, and he'll make a chore chart for them, with gold stars for chores they've performed particularly well. And they'll be happy, sort of, or anyway, Tweek will be.  
  
"I love you, okay?" Token says, because he could say that to any of them, and it's always going to be true, even fifty years from now, even if he never comes back to South Park. He tucks Clyde's hair behind his ear and waits to find out how he'll take the news.   
  
"Okay," Clyde says. "If I put how you love me and how he loves me together, it'd be enough. But it's like. Oil and water."  
  
"You're the smartest guy I know," Token says, and saying that makes his voice break hard. The ruthlessness slips from Clyde's eyes, and he whines with sympathy, cupping Token's face. Token can't even remember the last time he cried, but he if has to do it in front of anyone, he's glad that it's Clyde, and that Craig and Tweek are here, too, and that they have their eyes closed.   
  
"I love you, okay?" Clyde says, whispering, and Token nods: okay, yes, alright. He can live with knowing that, and he always will, wherever he goes, half enough for Clyde, two times too much for himself.


	2. Chapter 2

It was raining and eerily warm for November when Token returned to South Park for the first time in four and a half years. He was in the tony backseat of his father's car, which his father had insisted on sending to retrieve him from the airport. His father was in Singapore on business, and his mother was attending a conference in California. She had offered to come home for the occasion, but Token excused her from having to, and she didn't press.  
  
"When's the last time they were both at home together?" Token asked Vlad, their driver, who Token had known since he was six years old. Vlad insisted on wearing a uniform and never allowed Token to sit up front in the passenger seat.  
  
"Your parents?" Vlad asked.  
  
"Yeah, them."  
  
Vlad thought about this for a moment. He was Bulgarian and huge, a kind of bodyguard-driver combo. Token's father had made allusions to Vlad's past as a professional wrestler, and Token had only doubted the truthfulness of this in recent years, and was afraid to ask, lest his father laugh at him for not understanding that he'd been joking about that all along.  
  
"Halloween," Vlad said, finally. "They handed out the candy."  
  
"Are you serious?" Token felt jealous of the kids who had received it. "Well. Did they dress up?"  
  
"I think no."  
  
That was a relief. Token sat back and folded his arms over his chest. The landscape outside was an ugly, wet blur of gray, and he didn't want to be anywhere near it, but Kenny had been polite or obnoxious enough to die just a week before Thanksgiving, so everyone was coming home.  
  
Up in his childhood bedroom, the house so luxuriously quiet that he felt short of breath, he checked his phone before unpacking. There was nothing new from Bebe, and he knew he should call her to let her know he'd arrived, but something else on his phone's screen stopped him. A text message from Craig Tucker. Token hadn't realized that he still had Craig's number in his phone, but of course he did. He wasn't the sort of dramatic asshole who deleted things when friendships faded into bitter little scraps over the years.  
  
He opened the message. It was one word, three times.  
  
_well well well_  
  
Token smiled, though he wasn't sure why. It had always been that way with Craig: the things he did shouldn't have been funny, and Token couldn't have explained why they were. Maybe Craig wasn't _funny_ so much as _ruthless_ , but apparently Token was still capable of appreciating that. He started to type a reply, but nothing witty came to mind, and he decided, since people were dying and all, he might as well just put forth the effort of actually calling.  
  
"Oh my God," Craig said when he answered, but he sounded dully annoyed, like someone had just spilled his drink.  
  
"Indeed," Token said. There was a long pause. "So, um. What am I to make of this cryptic message?"  
  
"Why are you talking like that?" Craig asked.  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like you're Colonel Mustard or something. Tweek told me you were coming home for the funeral. Is that true?"  
  
"Yes, it's true, I've just arrived. And how would Tweek know?" Because Token hadn't spoken to Craig in roughly four years, he had also, of course, not spoken to Tweek.  
  
"Bebe told Clyde and Clyde told Tweek."  
  
Token braced a hand against the mattress, supporting himself against the weight of Clyde's name. Bebe talked about him all the time, but it was different, because Token wasn't in South Park when he listened.  
  
"So Clyde and Tweek are still - friendly?"  
  
"They have the same hair stylist," Craig said. "Which is my fault. I hate giving that little bitch money, but he cuts a damn fine head of hair, and back when Tweek and Clyde were both, you know, residing with me, I got them hooked on him, too."  
  
Token stopped trying to hold himself up and dropped onto the bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. He hadn't put on any lights yet. It was four o'clock, but already growing dark.  
  
"I guess you're talking about Butters," Token said, because there were only three hair stylists working in South Park, and Butters was the one most likely to be referred to by Craig as a little bitch.  
  
"Of course," Craig said. "Bebe doesn't report to you on these important matters?"  
  
"Not on where you get your hair cut, Craig, no."  
  
"Well, that's disappointing." Now Craig sounded angry, probably about something else, but possibly, literally about the fact that Bebe and Token did not discuss his hair. "So I guess you'll be at this soul sucking get together tonight," Craig said.  
  
"I don't know, will I? Who's hosting it?"  
  
"Really, Token? Who do you think? Mr. and Mrs. Marsh."  
  
"Stan's parents?"  
  
"No, the other Mr. and Mrs. Marsh. Stan and Kyle."  
  
Token sputtered with laughter, imagining Stan and Kyle in a little cottage, somberly welcoming guests, Kyle in an apron and Stan smoking a pipe. They weren't actually married, because Bebe would have mentioned it, but apparently they'd been as good as since high school. They'd gone to college together in Oregon, and now they were back in South Park for reasons unknown, renting an apartment. Bebe was pretty chummy with Kyle and she talked about him and Stan a lot. Token sometimes tuned it out, telling himself he was disinterested, not jealous.  
  
"I guess you're going?" Token said.  
  
"I wasn't invited," Craig said. "But yes, I'm going."  
  
"I guess Clyde will be there," Token said, thinking they might as well just get on with it. He already felt like he'd just spoken to Craig four days ago, like those four years were nothing much, easily brushed aside.  
  
"Clyde, well," Craig said. "You'd have to ask Bebe. Clyde very pointedly does not speak to me these days. Though I guess you know that. Maybe you talk to him all the time."  
  
"I don't."  
  
"Yeah, I didn't think so." A pause. "But of course he'll be there. Kenny was Bebe's boyfriend. Clyde is Bebe's fag hag. He'll be there for her."  
  
"Wouldn't that be the reverse?" Token said. "Bebe is Clyde's-"  
  
"No, somehow with Clyde it's the other way around. You'll see. Or, what am I saying - you know him. Knew him. Anyway, I've got to go, Tweek is back from class."  
  
"Tell him hello for me," Token said, surprised that Tweek was allowed to go anywhere without Craig, even class.  
  
"Tell him yourself, tonight at the party," Craig said. "See you then." He hung up.  
  
Token stayed on his back in bed, stretching both arms out across it, his cell phone tumbling from his hand. The bed was a California King, the same one he'd had here since he was twelve years old and announced that he was much too old for the race car bed he'd once begged for. His parents were all too happy to get rid of that tacky thing, and Token remembers a pang of regret as the movers carted it off. He asked his mother what would become of it, and she told him it would be donated, of course. Four years later Bebe told him that she'd recently had sex in that bed, with Kenny, who had inherited it from Goodwill. Token groped for his phone again and called Bebe.  
  
"I'm here," he said when she answered. She sounded tearful, and sighed heavily in response to the news that he'd arrived.  
  
"Good," she said. A sniffle. "Oh. It must be so weird for you. After all this time."  
  
"I'll survive. How are you doing?"  
  
"I don't know." She sighed again. "I feel like I'm in an alternate universe. It feels temporary. Listen, Stan and Kyle are having a party tonight. Well, not a party. A sort of, um. Reunion? I know you don't want to see Craig, but-"  
  
"I don't mind seeing Craig," Token said. "I just talked to him, actually. About the party. How did you know he would crash?"  
  
"Oh, Butters told me that Tweek had mentioned it. Wait. You talked to Craig?"  
  
"Yeah, he texted me. I was surprised, too, but. It's not like we had some big falling out. We just drifted apart."  
  
"Uh-huh. Well. That's good, that you guys talked. Because I really want you to come to the party."  
  
"I'll be there. Can I bring anything?"  
  
"I don't know, you'd have to ask Kyle."  
  
Token would do nothing of the sort. He would bring wine; something expensive from his parents' cellar.  
  
"I have a strange question for you," he said.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You remember Kenny's race car bed? The one that used to be mine?"  
  
"Yes." Her voice shook.  
  
"Do you know what happened to it?"  
  
"Token." She sighed. "I don't know. It might still be at Kenny's parents' house. I haven't been over there in years. _He_ hadn't been over there in years. He wasn't on speaking terms with them, or with his brother, and now I'm inundated with all of them, you know, suddenly they're just - in the picture, asking me things, and his sister is just - just inconsolable, completely devastated-"  
  
"Poor Karen."  
  
"Yes, and, ah, Token, I can't deal with any of this, with, with having opinions about the flowers or sending thank you cards to the people who've brought me casseroles - do I even have to do that? Aren't I exempt?"  
  
"I have no idea," Token said. "Do you want me to come over?"  
  
"Yes! I mean, well. Clyde's here. You don't have to."  
  
"Oh." Bebe didn't know anything about Token's history with Clyde, except that they weren't friends anymore. She didn't even know Clyde was gay, as far as Token could tell, which, considering how close Bebe and Clyde had become since she'd returned to town after college, didn't make a lot of sense.  
  
"So maybe we'll just see you at the party," Bebe said hurriedly, and Token imagined Clyde in the background, making desperate gestures, not wanting Token there.  
  
"Yeah, that would probably be best," Token said.  
  
He hung up with her and went into the attached bathroom to wash his face. He thought he looked old, or maybe just too old to be here. His parents had always visited him in Boston when he was at school there, for the excuse to spend time in a city that wasn't South Park, which had always been their favorite thing to do. Bebe had been there, too, not at the same school but close enough, and Token felt betrayed when she returned to South Park after graduating. She wouldn't explain why at first, but eventually she confessed that it was because of her ongoing affair with Kenny, who couldn't afford to leave his assistant manager position at Hobby Lobby or the scummy apartment where he lived with his little sister. Karen had been emancipated from her parents but was still attending South Park High. She was a senior now, and an orphan, essentially, without Kenny.  
  
Miserably, Token unpacked, imagining what Clyde and Bebe must be saying about him. He wondered if they were pre-gaming before this horrible reunion-slash-mourn fest and decided he'd better do some of that himself. He changed into something more comfortable, loose-fitting jeans and a cashmere sweater, charcoal gray. His parents had raised him to travel in fine clothes, out of respect for the other first class passengers, and he found himself resenting this as he carelessly tossed his suit jacket and slacks onto the bed. He was glad that his parents were out of town, and annoyed by that, too. His childhood friend was dead, killed by a oncoming train in the process of saving some brat kid's dog from getting run over. The dog had survived, along with the brat kid, who Bebe insisted was the real reason for Kenny's sacrifice. Token wouldn't have put it past Kenny to sacrifice himself over a dog, but considering that the child in question was the bastard son of Eric Cartman, Kenny might not have chosen to make the larger sacrifice, either.  
  
Downstairs in his father's study, Token drank enough thirty-year-old Macallan to make driving inadvisable. It didn't matter; Stan and Kyle lived at the Pinewood Terrace apartment complex, according to Bebe, and that was in walking distance, just like everything else in South Park. He was putting on his coat and an old pair of boots that were really too warm and serious for this weather when he heard a car in the driveway. Thinking it was just Vlad coming or going on one of the mysterious errands he ran for Token's parents while they were out of town, Token ignored this, and was startled when someone knocked on the front door. He went to answer it, and it took him a moment to place the irritable face that he saw through the peep hole.  
  
"Craig?" he said when he pulled the door open, his astonishment too raw to be hidden.  
  
"Yes, I'm fat," Craig said, scowling at him. "Bebe didn't tell you?"  
  
"I - she-"  
  
"Believe me, it's more of a shock to me than to it is to you. So, are you ready?"  
  
Token stood in the doorway, staring. Craig wasn't fat exactly, and a stranger passing him on the street might not even describe him as chubby, but he had just been so skinny before, back when Token left, a bony rail that Token had easily carried up the stairs at this very house. Now he was soft, ample and pillowy, and the extra weight made him seem shorter. His eyes were just the same, angry and guarded, but his face looked much rounder, which actually made him seem younger than twenty-two. He was wearing a knit hat with ear flaps, though it wasn't cold enough to need one, an enormous waffle crew shirt that was too big for him, the sleeves hanging over his hands, and jeans that were frayed at the bottom from being overly long. Back in high school Token had always found him prissily fashionable. They'd had that in common, though Token liked to think that his attention to his clothing choices had been a product of breeding and not a characteristic of being, as he eventually accepted, despite all the girls he'd slept with back then, very gay.  
  
"Jesus, is it really that shocking?" Craig asked when Token continued to stare. "I never exercised. You know I hate to sweat."  
  
"I - yeah." Token was so taken off guard that there was nothing he could do but lean forward to pull Craig into an awkward hug that was not returned. "Um, wha - I'm ready, just. I was going to grab a bottle of wine."  
  
"What for?" Craig asked.  
  
"For the party. The get together, I mean. As a hostess gift." Again, he pictured Kyle in an apron, sniffling bravely as he greeted his guests.  
  
"Oh, don't bother," Craig said. "Save the wine and we'll have it when we come back here afterward."  
  
"You're coming back here afterward?" Token raised both eyebrows. Craig did the same, mocking him.  
  
"Aren't I? I don't know, I guess we'll just see how the evening progresses. Hurry up, I've got the car running."  
  
Token looked at Craig's car, a very dated-looking silver Maxima. Tweek was in the front passenger seat. He looked, to Token's great relief, exactly the same as he had at high school graduation: wiry and small, his hair a mess, coat unbuttoned. They gave each other a feeble, nervous wave.  
  
"So come on," Craig said. He turned for the car, and turned back, frowning. "You look good, by the way. And you know it pains me to say that, since I don't."  
  
"You don't look bad," Token said, and it was true. Craig seemed sturdier, and more comfortable somehow, less on edge. Craig rolled his eyes.  
  
"You'll be relieved to know that Clyde improved with age," he said.  
  
"I'm going to get that wine," Token said, not ready to go there. Bebe had been telling him that Clyde had grown up handsomely for years. She said it with such surprise, and even Craig seemed to think this should be news. Token remembered Clyde as peerlessly beautiful, as luscious as he was solid, and gilded with a persistent, sunset-like glow. But of course, Token had been deeply in love with Clyde, and biased.  
  
Token went down to the cellar blindly and selected a bottle blindly, still reeling from the appearance of Craig, flung sideways by both his appearance at Token's door and his appearance in general. When he was back upstairs he realized the bottle he picked out was much too expensive to hand over to Kyle on such an unceremonious occasion, but he didn't feel like going back down and didn't want Craig to interview him about why he didn't have any wine after all, so he said to hell with it and walked out to Craig's car. His parents could afford another bottle of 1987 _Lascombes Margaux_ , surely.  
  
"Let Token sit up front," Craig said to Tweek when Token opened one of the back passenger doors.  
  
"No, no, please," Token said, putting a hand on Tweek's shoulder to still him when he started to take off his seat belt. "I'm fine in back." He gave Tweek's shoulder a squeeze. "It's good to see you," he said.  
  
"Y-you, too!" Tweek was nervous, shaking. "Um, how - how have you been?"  
  
"I'm not going to apologize for the state of this car," Craig said. There were fast food napkins and empty water bottles on the floorboards in the backseat, and the humid air inside the car stunk of stale french fries. "Some of us have to work for a living," Craig said. "Some of us don't have maids. Or car maids."  
  
"I've been good," Token said to Tweek, ignoring Craig. "You know, busy. I'm working for Pfizer now."  
  
"The drug company?" Tweek said, nearly shrieking this. Token struggled not to wince at the volume of Tweek's voice; he'd forgotten how jarringly it could change pitch.  
  
"Yes," Craig said. "The drug company. Token peddles Viagra now. Insert joke about how we always knew he was gay here."  
  
"Oh, you knew that, did you?" Token said, glowering at him, though it was such a relief that they could still pick on each other. "Did you figure that out before or after I came in your ass?"  
  
"Before, of course," Craig said, unflinching.  
  
"Anyway," Token said. He turned back to Tweek, not wanting to offend him with this conversation, though it was hard to tell when Tweek was offended or not. "Yeah, Pfizer. They want to send me to Hong Kong, actually."  
  
"Jesus!" Tweek said. "That's, like. China, right?"  
  
"Yes, Tweek."  
  
"Oh, Christ," Craig said. "You're not moving to Hong Kong."  
  
"Why shouldn't I?"  
  
"Well, they're pretty racist, aren't they?"  
  
"It's a big city." Token's father had actually asked him to consider this. He wasn't sure how legitimate a concern that was, and wasn't sure how he felt about the fact that Craig would think of it, too. "It wouldn't be any more racist than the town I grew up in."  
  
"Oh, please. We all loved you."  
  
"Craig, for fuck's sake." Token looked down at the wine bottle, wanting to open it and chug some. He'd never really learned to appreciate wine, to his parents' disappointment.  
  
"Well, anyway, they're communists," Craig said officiously. Tweek gasped.  
  
"Is that true?" he asked, whirling around to face Token, who raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Aren't you in college?" Token asked.  
  
"I shelter him from most media," Craig said before Tweek could answer. "He can't handle sad news stories."  
  
"It's too depressing!" Tweek said, pulling at his wild hair with both hands. Token sighed and sat back against his seat.  
  
"You two were made for each other," he said, not sure if that was a compliment or an insult. Craig huffed.  
  
"Obviously," he said. "So. Tell us. Are you engaged to a pompous Bostonian, or just sucking the dick of some soulless pharma CEO?"  
  
"Oh, both," Token said, narrowing his eyes. "Hasn't Bebe told you?"  
  
"As if Bebe speaks to me! She hoards whatever gossip she has about you. So tell me, do you date?"  
  
Token groaned. "Of course I do. But I'm not with anyone at the moment, if that's what you're asking." He almost wanted to add that, despite this, he would not be sleeping with anyone in this car tonight or at any point during his stay in South Park, but he held it in.  
  
"We're talking men, I presume?" Craig said. "You date men?"  
  
"Yes, Craig. I've come out. Even to my parents. Are you happy?"  
  
"Eh." He shrugged. "Too little, too late, as far as I'm concerned. I still haven't come out to my parents. I think my father would literally end my life, and just when we're starting to bond over both being fat and going bald."  
  
"You're not going bald, Craig."  
  
"Excuse me? Do you not see this?" He pointed to his hair line; he'd always had thin hair. "It's only a matter of time. And me just twenty-two. It's a cruel world, Token. But actually, I can't complain." He reached over to stroke Tweek's face with the backs of two fingers, and when they smiled at each other it felt like something real, a kind of heat to rival what was blasting from the vents in the front of the car. Token tried not to feel jealous, since that had likely been Craig's aim.  
  
"Well, I'm glad for you two," Token said. It was true. The thought of Craig and Tweek splitting up was more upsetting than the idea of his parents divorcing. "I heard you guys were living with Clyde for awhile," Token said.  
  
"Yes, during the college years," Craig said. "Or the first three anyway. Before Clyde started having his ideas."  
  
"His ideas?"  
  
"Oh, you'll see." Craig smiled, but he didn't look happy. "I'm sure he'll share them with you before the night is through."  
  
"That's - ominous," Token said, the scotch tilting in his stomach.  
  
"You have no idea," Craig said, muttering.  
  
"Bebe hasn't said-"  
  
"Well, Bebe doesn't know the first thing about it, does she?" Craig said, so sharply that Token didn't speak to him again for the rest of the ride. He focused on Tweek; they talked about Tweek's classes. His major at CSU was cognitive science, with a specialization in the clinical aspects of cognition. By the time they reached Pinewood Terrace, Token was impressed, if confused.  
  
"And what are you doing for Pfizer exactly?" Craig asked, purring with pride, daring Token to top that. It was almost cute.  
  
"Risk management," Token said.  
  
"Perfect," said Craig.  
  
The Pinewood Terrace apartments were nice-ish for South Park, relatively new, filled with college students and recent grads. Stan and Kyle lived on the third floor, and as Token approached their apartment's door he could already hear and almost feel the hum of the voices of the many people he used to know. Lifting his fist to knock on the door felt like preparing to overturn a bee hive and planning not to run away when the bees attacked but to stand there asking them how they'd been, praying for a relatively quick death.  
  
"Brace yourself," Craig said, snickering, and Token realized what Craig was to him in this scenario: a morally ambiguous spirit guide who had nothing to lose. Tweek, meanwhile, was one of those anthropomorphized cartoon animals inserted by the animators for comic relief.  
  
Stan opened the door. Like Tweek, he looked almost the same as he had at graduation, though Tweek still looked like a boy and Stan looked, as he had during their latter years in high school, like a man. Stan was attractive, tall, and openly sad when things weren't fair. A catch.  
  
"Guys," Stan said, but he was only looking at Token. They embraced, and Token surveyed the rest of the group from over Stan's broad shoulder. Everyone had sort of paused to see who was at the door: Kyle was in the small kitchen, dumping Chex Mix from a baking sheet into a bowl. He was wearing Christmas-print oven mitts, which was almost as a good an apron. Wendy was beside him, drinking from a wine glass rather than offering to help collect the stray Chex Mix bits that were dropping onto the counter. She gave Token a disapproving look. He pulled away from Stan and scanned the other side of the apartment's front room, which was big and open. There was a surprisingly nice-looking couch, and Bebe was seated on it, wearing black, flanked by Karen McCormick and Clyde.  
  
"I know we weren't exactly invited," Craig said as he pushed his way inside. "But Token brought wine."  
  
"Of course you were invited," Stan said, frowning. He hugged Tweek, which made Craig laugh. Tweek fidgeted and laughed, too, patting Stan's back.  
  
"It's fucking crazy!" Tweek said when Stan pulled free, obviously not planning on hugging Craig. "Kenny - Jesus! I still can't believe it."  
  
"I know," Stan said. He shut the door behind them. "C'mon in. We were just talking about the old days."  
  
"Token," Bebe said, crying a little as she rose from the couch and came toward him. Token was trying very hard not to look at Clyde again, but he did when he held Bebe, rubbing her back. Clyde was still seated, hunched over, his elbows on his knees. He did look good, more streamlined and square-jawed than he had been in high school, his baby fat seemingly gone, but he also looked exhausted, and someone needed to lick their fingers and press down the little cow lick at the back of his thick hair. Clyde smiled at Token when their eyes met. It was small but not nervous; he didn't even blush. Token tried to smile back, not sure that he'd managed.  
  
"Oh, thank you for coming!" Kyle said, pulling off his oven mitts as he walked over to greet them. "All of you," he said, a little pointedly, as if to retract this in regard to Craig. "You didn't have to," Kyle said when he took the wine from Token in lieu of hugging him, which Token appreciated; they'd never really been friends.  
  
"It's nothing," Token said. "Just-"  
  
"Token!" Kyle gaped at him. "This is - 19 _87_? This is too much! How much did you spend on this?"  
  
"Dude," Stan said, putting his hands on Kyle's elbows. He looked up at Token and grinned. They'd been on the football team together. They'd both fucked Wendy, in different years, and commiserated drunkenly during Wendy's graduation party: she was a biter, a quality that could quickly morph from sexy to terrifying. "Thanks, Token," Stan said, taking the wine from Kyle.  
  
"I don't mean to be ungrateful," Kyle said, looking panicked. "Just. I hardly know what's coming out of my mouth, you know, since it happened."  
  
"I'm so sorry," Token said, shaking his head. He tucked his arm around Bebe's waist. "It's such a terrible loss. He was an amazing person."  
  
"Thank you," Karen said softly, from the couch. Clyde touched her back. Absurdly, insanely, Token was jealous.  
  
"Is this really the first time you're home in four years?" Wendy asked, walking over to kiss Token on both cheeks.  
  
"Longer than that," Clyde said, standing.  
  
"Just barely," Token said. They shared a look; the scotch in Token's stomach seemed to get hot, set to boil. It reminded him that he wanted another drink. "Should we open that?" he asked, nodding to the wine.  
  
"Oh, we've got stuff open already," Kyle said. "Come in, come in! What can I get you all to drink?"  
  
"Vodka, if you've got it," Craig said. "Straight up, no ice."  
  
"Do you guys have coffee?" Tweek asked, twitching as if he was embarrassed to be so predictable.  
  
"Yes, we have coffee," Stan said. "I'll make some. We've got vodka, too," he said, giving Craig a kind of warning look. "Token, what'll you have?"  
  
"I don't know, anything. Beer?"  
  
The choice of beer was between some incredibly heavy Fat Tire holiday thing and Corona Light, which was apparently what Kyle drank in mixed company. Token opted for the Fat Tire, and suddenly everyone was gathered in the kitchen, even Karen. She looked like a matchstick girl in a black dress that she must have borrowed from Bebe, who was busty and curvy and all those things that Karen wasn't.  
  
"My brother's on his way," Kyle said while everyone else awkwardly munched Chex Mix, except for Tweek, who was standing and watching the coffee machine as the pot began to fill, trembling with anticipation.  
  
"What's Ike up to these days?" Token asked, though Bebe had told him.  
  
"He's dropped out of school to work for Cartman," Kyle said. He paused to let that sink in, or maybe he was distracted by a bit of pretzel that had just dropped from the corner of Craig's lips and onto the kitchen floor. "My parents are horrified," Kyle said. " _I'm_ horrified, or I was, anyway, but now Kenny is dead and I can't be bothered to keep trying to convince my brother not to ruin his life."  
  
"You don't know that he's ruining his life," Stan said. "What?" he said when Kyle gave him a disbelieving look. "Ike was majoring in Religious Studies at CSU, dude. And failing. He wasn't on track to graduate, and even if he had been, maybe he'll make more money helping Cartman sell sex robots."  
  
"And that's all that matters, that he makes money?" Kyle asked, almost shouting; Karen flinched. "Even if the devil himself is signing his paychecks?"  
  
"I think he's also pretty excited about the idea-" Stan said, and there was a knock on the door before he could finish. He went to answer it, looking relieved. Token dared a look at Clyde while the others were distracted, waiting to see who was at the door. Clyde was wearing an untucked Oxford shirt over expensive-looking jeans. He had a decent job, Token had heard, for a recent graduate of CSU's History program (focus in European history, which was weird and surprising if not just overly general). Clyde was working for the Colorado Board of Education, commuting from South Park to Denver, an assistant something or other in human resources. Token would interview him about it later. For now, he was both glad and disappointed that Clyde hadn't caught him staring.  
  
It was Butters at the door, hugging an enormous, aluminum foil-wrapped casserole dish to his chest. Token felt happy to see him, if only as a distraction from whatever else was going on, and it seemed like everyone else felt that way, too, with the exception of Craig, who had possibly deliberately stepped on the piece of pretzel that had fallen from his mouth, crushing it into dust on Kyle's kitchen floor. The rest of the party crowded Butters at the door, loudly greeting him and enthusiastically embracing him, as if the hosts' Golden Retriever had just escaped from from a back bedroom to make a much needed appearance.  
  
"Well, hey!" Butters said, beaming when it was Token's turn to receive him. "Gosh, Token! It's been a really long time, hasn't it?"  
  
"It has," Token said. He imagined he could feel Clyde's eyes on him then, and had to remind himself that he was doing just that: imagining. "How've you been?" Token asked, because if Butters was one of the bees, he wasn't the sort that stung.  
  
"Oh, I'm okay," Butters said, and he burst into tears, still holding the casserole.  
  
"Shh, here, let me take that," Kyle said, gently extracting the casserole, and Token could only assume Kyle was thinking about whatever was under the foil splattered all over his carpet.  
  
"I'm sorry, guys," Butters said, already winding down to a pathetic sniffle as Bebe and Karen hugged themselves against him. "It's just - Kenny."  
  
"Don't be sorry," Stan said. His eyes were wet, too, but just barely. "Come on, come sit down. Let me get you something to drink."  
  
"Yes, they've got vodka," Craig volunteered, lifting his glass.  
  
"Oh, thanks, but I think I'll just have some milk," Butters said. He was wiping at his face with his sleeves, letting Bebe and Karen guide him down to the couch.  
  
"For God's sake," Craig said. "At least have a Corona Light. The milk carton of beers. It's what Kenny would have wanted."  
  
Everyone in the room looked at Craig, aghast, except for Clyde, who was staring angrily at the kitchen floor, possibly at that crushed pretzel, and Tweek, who was gulping coffee. Butters also seemed unperturbed, and he nodded.  
  
"You know, I think you're right," Butters said with a sniffle. "Have you got any lime to stick in it? I like it when it gets all fizzy."  
  
"I like that, too," Kyle said, sadly, and he brought Butters a Corona Light, a lime fizzing away at the center of the bottle.  
  
"So tell me more about this whole sex robot venture," Token said, speaking into the awkward silence that followed.  
  
"It's what Kenny would have wanted us to talk about," Craig said. He smirked when he got more angry looks. Clyde walked past him, out of the kitchen and toward the front door.  
  
"Where are you going?" Bebe asked, distressed.  
  
"To my car," Clyde said. He opened the door without looking back. "I left something in it."  
  
"Oh, Christ," Craig muttered as the door, which Clyde had slammed behind him, rattled against the frame.  
  
"I'll go after him," Token said, not really caring that he was being obvious.  
  
"I thought you wanted to hear about the sex robots?" Craig said.  
  
"Tell me later." Token actually didn't give a damn about Cartman and his brilliant sex robot entrepreneurial venture, or that Ike Broflovski had involved himself somehow. Lawsuits had already been filed; apparently Cartman had stolen the technology. Of course he had. Token grew up with this sort of bullshit and never really found it very interesting even back then. He was more interested in Clyde, and glad to be hurrying away from the long looks the others were giving him.  
  
Token walked down to the parking lot, and it didn't take him long to spot Clyde. Despite the unseasonably warm weather, there was no one else outside, everyone huddled up in their little apartments, doing school work or watching football, or maybe they'd all gone home for the holidays. Thanksgiving was in four days; Kenny's funeral would take place tomorrow. Token had bought a new suit for the occasion, because he'd outgrown the old one that he used to wear to funerals, and because he'd wanted to spend a lot of his own money on this particular funeral suit. Kenny would have laughed at the gesture. Happily, Token thought.  
  
"Hey," Token said when he found Clyde leaning against a nondescript red Toyota. Token had never learned to appreciate cars, much to his father's disappointment. Clyde leaned up off of his and gave Token a hateful look that took him off guard.  
  
"What the hell were you thinking?" Clyde asked. Token stepped backward.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Bringing Craig!" Clyde was livid, pacing. "I can't believe you. Tweek, fine, but Craig-"  
  
"Whoa, hey, hang on." Token wanted to grab Clyde's shoulders and hold him still, but he was afraid he'd do more than that if those shoulders were again in his hands. He'd never seen Clyde angry before, not like this. It was disturbingly arousing. "I didn't bring Craig. He sort of brought me."  
  
"Well, that's even more disgusting! How can you still talk to him?" Clyde's face softened and he shook his head. "After. After what he did to us."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I thought that's why you left," Clyde said, his shoulders dropping in a way that made Token wonder when he'd last slept. "I mean. That's why I left."  
  
"Left where? You're still here." It was a mean thing to say, even if it was true.  
  
"Left _him_ , I mean," Clyde said. "Didn't Bebe tell you? I was still - I mean, for years-"  
  
"Bebe seemed to be under the impression that you were their roommate," Token said. "I guess I hoped she was right." Even though he knew she was wrong. Clyde sniffed.  
  
"Well, thank God you're the only one who knows better," Clyde said. "Sometimes I can't believe he hasn't told everyone himself."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Who? Really? Craig!" Clyde was so agitated that Token was afraid he would try break one of the windows on his own car with his fist. It would have been such a Clyde thing to do, and for some reason this made Token's eyes water.  
  
"Look, I don't know why you think I left," Token said. "Or why you assume it would have something to do with Craig, but I left for college, Clyde."  
  
"Yeah? Is that all?" Clyde narrowed his eyes, and Token had to withhold a groan, because it was adorable, him trying to look - threatening? Serious? That cow lick flapped around a bit every time he gesticulated. "Is that why you didn't even come back for winter break?" Clyde asked. "For summer?"  
  
"I didn't come back for winter break because we have family up north and my parents celebrate the holidays with them," Token said. "And I had internships during summer. Plus, you know, I was a triple major. I was always in class, I didn't take breaks." He knew he was being an asshole, pretending these were the only reasons, but he wasn't ready to tell Clyde the real reason he hadn't come back, since it was him, Clyde, and the fact that he'd been living with Craig in Token's absence.  
  
Clyde exhaled noisily and put his hands on Token's chest, but just to shove him, lightly. Token stumbled backward, more for Clyde's benefit than because he'd actually become unbalanced.  
  
"I thought you hated him like I do," Clyde said. "When you showed up with them - God. It's like you're on their side, but you can't be."  
  
"I'm not," Token said emphatically, scoffing. "If there are sides, I'm on yours. Just tell me why we hate Craig before I join your militia."  
  
Clyde seemed to consider smiling, but it didn't quite happen. He sighed and turned away from Token, dragging his hands through his hair until it was just one big mess of cow licks that Token wanted to smooth down.  
  
"Because, you know," Clyde said. He put his hands on his hips and stared at his car. At least, Token presumed it was his, since it was the one Clyde had chosen to lean against angrily. "Because of what he did to us," Clyde said, his voice lowering. "Back then. All that stuff."  
  
"Stuff?" Token's heart rate sped up. He had never discussed his odd sexual awakening with any of the partners he'd had during college. He had also never forgotten what it felt like to have Clyde's mouth around him, or to have Clyde's warm weight slumped onto his chest during a boring movie, or that night, that one night, when he'd been inside Clyde, just to touch, just a little.  
  
"All the sex stuff," Clyde hissed, confirming Token's fears. So they would be talking about this, and right away, not even bothering with small talk. "He - he corrupted us, you know?" Clyde said. "He made us into freaks for his amusement."  
  
"Oh, Clyde." Token didn't even know where to begin with this. He looked up at the stars, but they were obscured by the substantial light pollution thrown off by Pinewood Terrace.  
  
"Don't 'oh, Clyde' me. We were _abused_ , Token. Children can abuse other children, you know."  
  
Token was brought back from the light polluted stars very abruptly. He gave Clyde what must have been an utterly horrified, irreversibly devastated look, because Clyde immediately became guilty-looking in response, shaking his head.  
  
"I'm sorry, but, you know." Clyde stepped closer. Token didn't even know where to put his eyes, reeling from what Clyde had suggested. "That's what he did."  
  
"Well. Wait." Token looked for something to hold on to, then realized that he was searching for his drink and that he'd left it inside. He wondered if any of them - or all of them - were watching this exchange from the window.  
  
"Don't feel bad," Clyde said softly. "It took me a long time to figure it out myself. God, I was living with him until I was twenty, still doing whatever he wanted. Less so, toward the end, though. And poor Tweek. I don't think there's any saving him now. He lives in fairyland, and Craig is the elf king or some goddamn thing, who knows."  
  
"Whoa," Token said. He put his hands on Clyde's shoulders, and the effect was as bracing as it was disorienting. "Back up. Are you saying. Craig did things to you against your will? Was he blackmailing you? I never knew, Clyde, I would have-"  
  
"Not like that, no." Clyde stepped out of Token's grip, which surprised him and hurt badly. "I mean, for God's sake, I thought I was in love with him for years. But he used that, you know? He tricked us, all of us, even you."  
  
"When was I tricked, exactly?" Token asked, beginning to feel insulted, and frightened. "When you and Tweek were licking my neck and offering to suck me off? That was something that Craig - _did to you_ , somehow?"  
  
"Well, he suggested it," Clyde said, finally blushing. "But - ah, God, I don't know. I don't have a fucking map that shows how he led us down the rabbit hole, but you have to admit that's where we were. It wasn't normal. It messed us all up. Well, me, anyway, and certainly Tweek. Maybe you're doing great, how the hell would I know."  
  
"Tweek seems okay," Token said, not wanting to discuss the subject of himself and his adult sex life, though actually it had been pretty normal, if not very fulfilling. Maybe that was the most normal thing about it. "So what's - I mean, why do you say you're messed up? Bebe says-"  
  
"Bebe! I don't tell her anything. I mean, who am I supposed to talk about this with? Where do I start? 'I can't get hard for girls because I learned sex from a boy. I can't get hard for guys because Craig Tucker isn't there to watch.' Even Bebe would think I was a freak, and she knew me when I used to piss my pants in class."  
  
"Well, firstly," Token said, feeling like he might vomit. "This is just an idea, but I think you can't get hard for girls for the same reason you felt like you were in love with Craig when we were kids. You're gay, aren't you?"  
  
"Not necessarily!" Clyde said, bright red now. "Craig didn't give me a chance to be anything else. He pounced before I knew what was happening."  
  
"Pounced?"  
  
"Oh, forget it! You're in denial." Clyde tried to walk away, but Token caught his arm. They were fairly comparable in size; they always had been. A physical fight between them might last for hours.  
  
"I was in denial for a long time," Token said evenly, his face close to Clyde's in a not-very-intimate way. "I didn't want to admit that I was gay. But I was, I mean, I am. I've come to terms with that. I'm out. Didn't Bebe-"  
  
"Yes, she told me," Clyde said. His voice was trembling angrily. "I was disappointed. Or, no, I was sad. You've let Craig ruin your life just like I have."  
  
"Clyde," Token said. He was going to cry, was actually going to start sobbing here in the parking lot of the fucking Pinewood Terrace apartments, which was maybe appropriate, since the last time he'd cried was five years ago, and it had been Clyde who set him off. "I wish," Token said, holding in the words _You need help_ , because he was aware that Clyde wouldn't be receptive to them. "I wish I hadn't abandoned you. I was just so jealous."  
  
"Jealous?" Clyde ripped his arm free from Token's grip, which did authentically unbalance him, but he caught himself against the car parked next to his, something white and SUV-ish.  
  
"If Craig ruined my life it's only because you loved him and not me," Token said. "Don't you know - did you never figure out how I felt about you?"  
  
Clyde stared at him for awhile, his right hand frozen in front of the left cuff of his shirt, as if he had been about to pull it down but had forgotten halfway through.  
  
"I didn't love him," Clyde said. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. None of us were in love. We didn't know what that meant."  
  
"And now you know?" Token asked. The threat of tears seemed to have passed, and he was rapidly getting angrier, not at Craig but at Clyde.  
  
"Maybe I don't know," Clyde said. "It's not like. I mean, I haven't." He huffed and looked up at the third floor, at the window of Stan and Kyle's apartment. "They were like us," Clyde said, and Token knew he meant Stan and Kyle.  
  
"Gay?" Token said, though it was a low blow.  
  
"No, or, well. Whatever they were, they didn't go about it all fucked up like we did. Like Craig made us do. So they can be together now, normal. And Craig has, you know, his safety school, Tweek, that was never in jeopardy."  
  
"I think you're wrong about some of this," Token said, crushed by the fact that Clyde had no reaction to his confession, either because he thought Token didn't know his own feelings or because he just didn't care. "Craig and Tweek might be weird, and we might have been - unorthodox, all of us, back in school, but I think this is about you, not Craig. You're still in love with him, aren't you?"  
  
"That's the dumbest thing you've ever said." Clyde stepped forward, and Token thought he might get punched, or kissed. "Move," Clyde said, making his eyes hard.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I need to get into my car. I said I was getting something, didn't I? Well. I am."  
  
Token stepped aside and watched Clyde unlock the Toyota. So it was his. Of course it was. Clyde leaned across the backseat, giving Token a nice view of his ass that Token couldn't appreciate with so much rage churning in his stomach. When Clyde slid back out of the car he was holding a ratty looking envelope.  
  
"What's that?" Token asked.  
  
"Some pictures for Karen," Clyde said. "Old ones that I found of Kenny, from over the years."  
  
"You had pictures of Kenny?" Token said, bracing himself to absorb another shock. Clyde shrugged.  
  
"From my birthday parties and stuff," Clyde said. "Mostly group pictures, from when we were kids. I don't want them anymore. Craig is in almost all of them."  
  
Clyde shut the door of his car, pressed a button that locked it and began to walk back toward the apartment building. Token made an indignant sound that made him think of the way his father treated valets when he had to wait more than thirty seconds for the car.  
  
"You're just going to go back in there?" Token said, stomping after Clyde. "You're going to say those things and leave me out here, go back inside?"  
  
"Bebe needs me," Clyde said, still walking. "You know, without Kenny. She needs support. This is something I can actually do."  
  
"You never think about me?" Token said, too loudly, when Clyde had reached the foot of the stairs. Clyde stopped there and gripped the railing. He turned back, but only halfway, not looking at Token exactly.  
  
"Of course I think about you," Clyde said. "I'm obsessed with you. I mean, with those - memories. It's part of the sickness."  
  
"You need help," Token said, no longer interested in coddling him. Clyde scoffed.  
  
"Like that's news to me."

They reentered the party in mutual angry silence, Clyde with his envelope and Token not bothering to search out his former drink, just going to the kitchen for another. Wendy was there, sitting on the counter with her wine glass and watching Craig dig a tortilla chip into the casserole that Butters brought, which looked to be a very extravagant seven layer dip.  
  
"That obviously went well," Craig muttered when Token closed the refrigerator door harder than he needed to. He opened his beer and drank from it.  
  
"Don't," he said, softly, to Craig. Clyde was in the living room, showing everyone the pictures. Bebe and Butters were both exclaiming over them with watery delight; Karen was sniffling.  
  
"What's that he's showing them?" Wendy asked.  
  
"Old pictures of Kenny," Token said.  
  
"Oh." She didn't sound especially interested. She slid off the counter and smiled at Token. "I was so happy to hear that you're gay," she said. Craig snorted.  
  
"Thanks?" Token said. The things Clyde had said were still echoing around in his head, and Wendy seemed as real and immediate as a voice mail message reminding him about a doctor's appointment, the kind of thing that he could delete without letting it finish playing.  
  
"I just mean that us breaking up wasn't my fault," she said. "Once you factor the gay thing in."  
  
"Unless it was your fault," Craig said. "I mean," he said, grinning when she glared at him. "Stan turned out gay, too."  
  
"Oh, Christ, like I didn't realize Stan was gay when he was eleven years old," Wendy said. She grabbed a chip and heaped it with dip, guacamole and refried beans that had combined with some slimy sour cream. To Token it looked like the least appetizing thing he'd ever had the displeasure of seeing, and yet he also felt starving and in mind of tacos.  
  
"If you knew Stan was gay," Craig said, "Why did you spend, like. Half of high school fucking him?"  
  
"It wasn't half, it was just a year or so, and mostly I wanted to irritate Kyle."  
  
"Oh." Craig said. He frowned at the dip. "Well, I guess I can understand that."  
  
"Also, he was a good lay," Wendy said, crunching a chip between her teeth as she spoke.  
  
"I've got to -" Token muttered, ready to be away from them. Craig caught his elbow before he could leave the kitchen.  
  
"So you see what I mean?" Craig said, keeping his voice low. "You see what he's like now?" His eyes were just the same as they'd always been, since the first time Token noticed what color they were: gray like wet pavement, like the kind of dampened atmosphere that's left behind after a bad storm, when everything smells different for having been soaked.  
  
"You're gonna come over to my house after this, right?" Token asked. Craig's eyebrows shot up.  
  
"Well. Sure-"  
  
"Because I need you to explain how this – started," Token said. He yanked his elbow out of Craig's grip and went into the living room to look at pictures of Kenny, really wanting to see old pictures of birthday boy Clyde, beaming from behind the glow of candles on his cake, a party hat adorably askew on his mop of hair, the little string that held it in place pressing into the pudge of baby fat under his chin. Before Token could get there, somebody knocked on the door.  
  
"Could you get that?" Stan said to Token. Stan was on the couch beside Bebe, and Kyle was in his lap, palming tears from the corner of his eye as he looked down at some picture Stan was holding.  
  
"Sure," Token said, not sure if he wanted to hide or advertise his irritation at being asked to do so. Of course the person who had been away for almost five years should open the door; that wasn't awkward at all. He opened it and stared at someone he only halfway recognized, needing a moment to place the face.  
  
"Ike?"  
  
"Hey!" Ike smiled, though he looked worried about something, like he was trying to remember if he owed Token money. Token was certain that he didn't; they had only spoken maybe once or twice, and never about anything important. Ike was eighteen now, his chin and upper lip covered with pathetically hopeful black scruff, and Bebe had said something about Ike finishing high school early and enrolling in college at sixteen, but apparently he had flunked out, or at least quit in favor of working for Cartman. Token didn't care much either way, and he stepped aside to let Ike enter.  
  
"There you are," Kyle said, climbing off Stan's lap when he saw his brother. "You're late."  
  
"Don't be mad," Ike said, holding both hands up, looking panicked.  
  
"Why would I-"  
  
Before Kyle could finish the question, a hulking guy shuffled into the doorway behind Ike, wearing a rumpled brown suit and a half-unfastened tie, holding the hand of a little boy who had ketchup smeared at the corner of his lips, or maybe it was blood, considering that the hulking guy was Eric Cartman and the little boy could only be his consistently neglected five-year-old son, Nelson.  
  
"What the hell?" Kyle said, immediately angry. "You brought _him_?"  
  
"Ey, fuck you, Jew, Kenny was my friend, too!" Cartman said, yanking at his tie.  
  
"Eric!" Butters squawked from the couch, and he held a finger over his lips. "The language, please!"  
  
"Bubby!" Nelson said, shouting. He dropped Cartman's hand and ran to Butters with his arms thrown out. Butters seemed equally enthusiastic about seeing the little boy, and he was grinning widely as he pulled Nelson into a hug, then up into his lap.  
  
"We were working late," Ike said when Kyle continued to fume. Cartman ignored Kyle's irritation and headed straight for the kitchen, humming with delight when he discovered the seven layer dip. Craig and Wendy gave him unwelcome stares.  
  
"Oh, look at you, you're a mess," Butters said to Nelson. He licked his fingers and wiped at the stain at the corner of Nelson's lips. "What is this? You smell like a cheeseburger."  
  
"That's cause I ate one," Nelson said. "For dinner. Just now." He beamed at Butters like the fact that Butters had discerned an air of cheeseburgers around him made them soul mates. Nelson was Cartman's son with Patty Nelson, who Cartman apparently had an affair with during senior year. He impregnated her in short order, and she skipped town after giving birth, leaving Cartman and the baby for Jimmy Valmer, who she later married, according to Bebe. They lived in Los Angeles.  
  
"Token, can you shut the door?" Kyle said, groaning. "You're letting the heat out."  
  
"Wha – oh," Token said, and he he could hear Craig snickering at his obvious bewilderment. Token had heard plenty about Cartman's kid, but he'd never actually seen him, not even a picture or anything. Nelson was cute, surprisingly, even though he looked more like Cartman than Patty. He was wearing a corduroy pea coat that looked like something Butters might have carefully selected as a gift, and he wasn't as fat as Cartman had been as a child, which was something.  
  
"It's good to see you, Nelson," Bebe said, reaching over to press his static-filled hair down; it was a mousy brown like Cartman's. "You're getting so big."  
  
Nelson said nothing, just smiled shyly and pressed closer to Butters, who kissed his forehead. Token looked at Clyde, asking for an explanation, but Clyde was staring at the carpet. Stan caught Token's eyes and shrugged, rolled his eyes, shook his head.  
  
"So Token is here," Cartman said, his voice seeming to boom from the refrigerator as he leaned into it to search for a beer. "That seem weird to anybody else?"  
  
"He's in town for the funeral," Bebe said. "Which I wasn't sure you'd be interested in attending."  
  
"Yeah, well," Cartman said, standing to give everyone in the room an unfriendly leer. "I guess I kind of have to."  
  
"Considering it was your fault," Kyle said.  
  
"Hey, hey," Stan said, getting up from the couch and walking to Kyle.  
  
"Yeah, fellas, please," Butters said softly, hugging Nelson. "Not – now."  
  
"Anyway," Ike said. "Um, so." His eyes fell on Karen. "I just wanted to stop by and tell you how sorry I am," he said, speaking to her. "And I'll definitely be there tomorrow. Definitely."  
  
"Thanks, Ike," Karen said. She looked at Nelson and sighed. "Kenny would be, um. He'd be glad you guys are here." She seemed to be talking about the little boy more than anything. "Want to see something?" she asked, scooting closer to Butters and Nelson. She handed Nelson one of the photos Clyde had brought in and pointed to it while he held it with two hands. "See that boy there?" she said. "In the green party hat?"  
  
"That fat one?" Nelson said.  
  
"Um, well." Karen laughed. "He was a little chubby, wasn't he? But that's Eric, that's your dad."  
  
" _That's_ my dad?" Nelson said, and Butters giggled.  
  
"Ey!" Cartman said. He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking flustered. "Don't you fah – don't you a-holes have any real beer?"  
  
"What we have is in the fridge," Stan said, touching Kyle's arm to keep him from exploding. "Help yourself," he added, dryly.  
  
"Can you find me in that picture?" Butters asked Nelson, who was still studying it. Token looked at Clyde again, and this time their eyes met. Clyde seemed sad and far away, sitting on the arm of the couch while everyone passed his pictures around.  
  
"Is that you?" Nelson asked Butters, pointing.  
  
"No," Butters said. He put his chin on top of Nelson's head. "That's. That was Kenny."  
  
"Oh, Kenny." Nelson frowned at the picture, bringing it closer to his face. "He saved Goose."  
  
"That's right," Butters said, and everyone, more or less, looked at Bebe. She was trying hard to smile, her lip trembling. Goose was Nelson's dog. Token wasn't sure what breed the wretched thing was, but he was imagining a particularly dim pug.  
  
"Is he dead?" Nelson asked, and Butters nodded. "Forever?" Nelson asked.  
  
"How many times do we have to go over this?" Cartman said, walking in with a Corona Light, no lime. "What did I tell you? Dead means forever."  
  
"But he was nice," Nelson said.  
  
"Excuse me," Bebe said. She got up from the couch, stepped over Butters' legs and headed for a back room, closing the door softly behind her. Clyde and Kyle both headed after her, and they stopped to stare at each other when they noticed this.  
  
"Um, I should," Kyle said. "It's my-"  
  
"I'll do it," Clyde said, and he didn't wait for Kyle's answer. He slipped into the room Bebe had disappeared into, closing the door more loudly than she had.  
  
"Did I make her mad?" Nelson asked, whispering this to Butters, who shook his head.  
  
"No, baby," he said. He stood, hoisting Nelson up into his arms. "C'mon, are you hungry? Do you want some chips and dip?"  
  
"I just ate a cheeseburger, Bubby!"  
  
They went into the kitchen, and Token walked forward to stand around the coffee table, which Cartman, Stan, Ike and Kyle were all staring at. Karen was still on the couch, looking through the pictures. In the kitchen, Token could hear Wendy trying to make awkward small talk with Nelson. Craig was in the dining room with Tweek, disinterested in these developments and having some quiet, private conversation, probably informing Tweek that they'd been invited back to Token's.  
  
"So, um," Stan said. He slid an arm around Kyle's shoulders. "What time are you guys gonna get there tomorrow? For the service?"  
  
"It starts at one, right?" Token said, and Kyle nodded.  
  
"Bebe was going to host a little reception after," he said. "But I think it's really too much to ask of her. Considering, ugh." He glanced back at Karen, but she didn't seem to be listening. She was smiling down at the pictures, wiping tears. "Considering, you know. Who might attend."  
  
He was referring to Kenny's family, his parents and brother. Bebe had mentioned that Kenny's brother had fathered some children and was living with an older woman; Token couldn't remember if she was the mother of Kenny's nieces and nephews or some new development. Ike sighed and shoved his hands into his back pockets.  
  
"Fuck," he said, unhelpfully. Cartman chugged from his beer.  
  
"What's up with Butters?" Token asked Cartman, annoyed. "Is he Nelson's nanny or something?"  
  
Stan and Ike gave Token simultaneous _oh shit, no_ looks, but he didn't really care about hurting Cartman's feelings, or getting him riled up, or whatever they were concerned about. Cartman turned to look at the kitchen. Butters had set Nelson on the counter and was using a damp dish towel to more thoroughly clean his ketchup-stained mouth.  
  
"Butters is a saint," Cartman said. "And I'm fucking exhausted. So. Token. I assume you're still rich?"  
  
"My parents survived the economic crash, if that's what you mean."  
  
"Yeah, sure, whatever. But good, that's good. How are you feeling about amazing investment opportunities at the moment?"  
  
"Like not hearing about them. Is this about the sex robots?" He turned to Ike.  
  
"It really is pretty amazing technology," Ike said. "If we just can survive this lawsuit."  
  
"That crack pot doesn't have a case – Ike, Jesus Christ!" Cartman glared at him. "Don't bring that shit up in front of potential investors!"  
  
"I really _cannot_ take this right now," Kyle said, closing his eyes and lifting both hands. "Seriously, Ike, do not push me. It's bad enough that you've brought him here."  
  
"Face it, Jew," Cartman said, lifting his pinkie finger from the Corona Light bottle and pointing it at Kyle. "Your brother knows a good thing when he sees it."  
  
"My brother is a delusional child!"  
  
"Hey!" Ike said.  
  
"Guys, c'mon," Stan said.  
  
"I'm gonna check on Bebe," Token said.  
  
"Oh, on _Bebe_ , right," Craig said, suddenly right behind him. Token jumped, and scowled when Craig laughed at his reaction. Tweek was hunching behind Craig, cradling his empty coffee mug with both hands.  
  
"I mean, Jesus, if those two are here," Cartman said, gesturing to Craig and Tweek. "And Token, who, like, wow, dude, I'm surprised you even remember who Kenny is-"  
  
"Cartman!" Stan said. "Don't fucking push _me_ , okay?"  
  
"All's I'm saying is that obviously we all have amnesty," Cartman said, again gesturing to Craig, who was expressionless. "I mean, fuck. Kenny is dead."  
  
They were all quiet for a moment, staring down at their drinks. Token pushed past Craig and Tweek and headed for the bedroom that Clyde and Bebe had disappeared into. He was afraid it would be locked, but it wasn't. He peered in, waiting for his eyes to adjust; there was only a small lamp on the bedside table, and there was a gauzy blue scarf draped over the shade, giving the room a romantic glow. Bebe and Clyde were both sitting on the bed, Clyde passing tissues to Bebe while she cried.  
  
"What do you want?" Clyde asked when Token lingered in the doorway. Bebe smacked Clyde's arm.  
  
"Don't be like that," she said. "C'mere, Token. I'm okay."  
  
Token walked into the room and closed the door behind him, feeling childishly triumphant, as if he'd just won a round in some game he was playing with Clyde. Bebe leaned against Token when he sat beside her on the bed, and he pulled her hair away from her shoulder, smoothing it down her back. In Boston, they'd been so close; they told each other everything, ran to each other after every bad date or grueling exam. The only thing she'd kept from him were her real feelings for Kenny. She'd talked about Kenny like he was a guilty pleasure, someone she couldn't help sleeping with whenever she went home to visit her parents. Her stories about falling back into Kenny's arms were part of the reason Token was afraid to go home, though it was Craig, not Clyde, who he didn't want to fall pray to. Only after Bebe finally confessed that she was so in love with Kenny that she was willing to move back to South Park and share a crummy apartment with him and his sister did Token realize what had always really been going on: Kenny was Bebe's Clyde.  
  
He looked at Clyde from over her head while she leaned onto him, sighing tiredly. Clyde looked tired, too, close to dropping down and snoring into Kyle's sheets. But Clyde had never snored; his nose had done that whistling thing. Token wanted to reach for him, but he could only sit there thinking about what Clyde had said, that Craig had abused them.  
  
"Cartman's such an asshole," Clyde said.  
  
"Is he forcing Butters to raise Nelson for him?" Token asked. "I'm so confused."  
  
"Oh, Token," Bebe said. She sat up and blew her nose into an already dirty tissue. "Don't even try to figure that out. The rest of us have all given up."  
  
"They're not, like." Token made a face. "Together?"  
  
"Weirder things have happened," Clyde said flatly.  
  
"Kenny cared about that little boy," Bebe said. "Poor little Nelson. Patty named him that so that Cartman would give the kid his last name, so that he wouldn't be Nelson Nelson. I don't know why she thought Cartman would care enough to do it. Then she just _left_ , oh. It's too sad to think about."  
  
"Kenny didn't die for nothing," Clyde said. He rubbed Bebe's back, and if he noticed when his hand brushed Token's, he didn't let on. "Kenny saved Nelson's life, and he'd do it again."  
  
"What if was just the dog, though?" Bebe said, starting to fall apart again.  
  
"Cartman's only saying that he saved the dog so that child protective services won't take Nelson away," Clyde said. "C'mon, you know that."  
  
"Jesus," Token said, muttering. He was starting to feel very tired himself, and wanted to lie down on the bed with them. Maybe he could hold Clyde's hand over Bebe's stomach, their fingers threading together effortlessly at some point during the night, when all this bullshit fell away. "Why doesn't Cartman just let them take his kid away?" Token asked. "Wouldn't he see that as, like. Them doing him a favor?"  
  
"No, no," Bebe said, frowning. "He loves that kid. He's just an asshole. He's careless. But now he won't let Nelson out of his sight. Ike said he's had Nelson with them at the office all week."  
  
"Cartman and Ike have an office?" Token felt personally offended; he didn't yet have an office himself, though Pfizer kept promising him one in Hong Kong.  
  
"A sex robot business development office," Clyde said, nodding. Token caught his eye, and Clyde did that almost smile thing again, only managing to look sadder when his lips couldn't quite twitch upward. There was a knock on the bedroom door.  
  
"Yeah?" Token called, expecting Kyle. Instead, Craig stuck his face in and looked at all three of them like they were a tray of leftovers that had gotten slightly but maybe not irredeemably moldy.  
  
"I'm leaving," Craig said. "If you want a ride."  
  
He was speaking to Token, of course. Token nodded and motioned for Craig to leave.  
  
"I'll be right there," he said.  
  
"You've got ten seconds," Craig said. He disappeared, shutting the door hard behind him. Clyde sniffed.  
  
"This is amazing," Clyde said when Token looked at him. "You're still coming when he calls."  
  
"I just don't feel like walking home," Token said.  
  
"We could drive you," Bebe said.  
  
"No, let him go," Clyde said. "I'm sure Craig and Token have a lot to talk about."  
  
"Yeah, we probably do," Token said sharply, before Bebe could protest. He kissed her forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. She gaped at him, then looked at Clyde.  
  
"Did you two fight?" she asked. "When you were outside-"  
  
"No, no," Token said, standing. He straightened his sweater and stared down at Clyde. "What would be the point of fighting? I'm only here for two days."  
  
"What, you won't stay for Thanksgiving?" Bebe asked.  
  
"No, my parents won't be here for that." He looked at Clyde again, but Clyde was staring down at his hands. Token couldn't tell if he was ashamed of himself, and wasn't sure that he wanted him to be. "I'll see you guys tomorrow," Token said, and he left the drowsy glow of Stan and Kyle's bedroom, which smelled like Axe, cough drops, fabric softener: cozy things, a place where the happy couple would huddle together when the rest of these maniacs had dispersed.  
  
Token muttered quick goodbyes to everybody, promising to see them tomorrow. Craig was already out the door, and Tweek was lingering nervously, waiting to see if Token would come. He looked relieved when he did, and Token took Tweek's elbow and held it while they walked down the stairs, because it had suddenly gotten colder, and Tweek's coat was really more of a thin jacket, cute but functionless.  
  
"Jesus," Tweek said when they reached the parking lot. "I can't believe we used to, like, know those people." Craig was about twenty feet up ahead, giving them a surreptitious look as he unlocked the car, pretending not to care how far behind they were.  
  
"What about Clyde, though?" Token asked, wanting to get the story from Tweek before they had Craig for an audience. "I mean. What the hell happened?"  
  
"Ah, God!" Tweek did a full body shudder, grabbing at Token's arm with his free hand. "That was so fuh-fucking awful."  
  
"What?" Token said, but they'd reached the car, and Craig was standing there with the driver's side door open, his boot braced on the car like it was some big game animal he'd just killed.  
  
"So," Craig said when Token and Tweek stood near the back of the car, staring at him. "Now the real fun can begin."  
  
"Craig," Token said. Craig heard the anxiety in it and rolled his eyes.  
  
"Not that sort of fun," he said. "I'm too old for that. I mean, look at me. I could be forty."  
  
"Craig, Jesus!" Tweek said. He let go of Token, pointedly. "That's not true!"  
  
"Well, anyway," Craig said. "Get in. Both of you."  
  
Token thought of how disappointed Clyde would be if he did what Craig asked, and he imagined Clyde watching him from Stan and Kyle's bedroom window, grinding his teeth.  
  
Still, he got in. 


	3. Chapter 3

They stopped at Taco Bell on the way to Token's house. Craig ordered an impressive amount of soft tacos and it felt like a challenge, so Token ordered more for himself than he could ever possibly eat. Tweek limited himself to a large Pepsi, claiming that he didn't have the stomach for fast food.   
  
“Tweek eats only dry white bread and boiled carrots,” Craig said, sounding proud about this. Tweek made a noise of protestation, twitching.  
  
“That's not true!” he said. “I eat other stuff! Sometimes.”  
  
“I wish you'd eat more,” Craig said, unwrapping a soft taco while he steered with his elbow. “You make me feel lonely in my cravings.”  
  
“Craig! Jesus! I'm sorry, I don't mean to-”  
  
“That's okay.” Craig eliminated half the soft taco in one bite and reached over to rub Tweek's jaw. “Token's here now, he can keep me company while I stuff myself.” Craig peered into the backseat. “Did you eat any of that dip Butters brought? That shit was pretty good.”  
  
“It was,” Token said, though he couldn't remember if he'd tried any or not.   
  
“Do you have any pot?” Craig asked.   
  
“Me?” Token said. “No.”   
  
“That surprises me,” Craig said.   
  
“Why? I never smoked in high school.”   
  
“Yeah, but you went to school in fucking Boston. And I don't know how you get high these days.”   
  
“Can we talk about Clyde?” Token asked, hugging the bag of fast food in his lap, annoyed. Craig sighed, and it turned into a belch about halfway through.  
  
“Let me eat first,” he said. “The thought of Clyde makes me lose my appetite.”  
  
“Fine,” Token said, and he ate fast food tacos out of his lap in the backseat of Craig's filthy car, thinking of how horrified his parents would be if they could see him now. “It's an ironic choice of cuisine, though,” he said once he'd swallowed. “For someone who doesn't want to think about Clyde.”   
  
“Thanks, Dr. Freud,” Craig said. “That totally had not occurred to me.”   
  
Token couldn't be sure if he was serious or not, which was distressing. He used to be able to distinguish between every flavor of Craig's monotone.  
  
“So, Cartman and that kid,” Token said. “What the fuck.”   
  
“Breeders,” Craig said with a shudder, and Token gave up on trying to make conversation for the remainder of the car ride.   
  
At Token's house, Craig left his fast food garbage on the kitchen counter and headed straight for the wet bar in the living room. Token allowed it, searching through the pantry until he found some stale white bread for Tweek, who accepted it gratefully. He was hamster-like when he ate it, turning it in his hands to polish off the crust first.   
  
“Alright,” Craig said, patting his stomach when he returned to the kitchen with a glass of something clear, probably vodka. “Now I'm fed and on my way to getting drunk. What do you want to know about Clyde?”  
  
“Everything, I guess,” Token said, and Craig rolled his eyes.   
  
“You know all the important stuff already,” Craig said. He sat down at one of the stools around the island in the middle of the kitchen, beside Tweek. Token tried not to think about that night, New Year's Eve, when he pressed Clyde up against the counter behind them and kissed him. It had started off so innocently; he remembered feeling attracted to Clyde, but he'd wanted to coddle him more than anything, even with his lips.   
  
“When did he start thinking that you –?” Token doesn't want to confront Craig with what Clyde said, though he's sure at this point that Craig has heard it.   
  
“I don't know – Tweek?” Craig turned to him. “When would you say Clyde started thinking of me as a rapist?”  
  
“Jesus!” Tweek dropped the piece of bread he was working on and slapped both hands over his ears, wincing. “Don't say that! That's not – he never said – that – exactly.”   
  
“I'm gonna get a drink,” Token said.   
  
“Here, have some of mine,” Craig said, sliding his glass across the island. Token caught it and eyed the marks Craig's greasy lips had left on the glass, avoiding them. “The truth, Token,” Craig said, “Is that Clyde doesn't know what the fuck he thinks about anything anymore. Though I guess, as his alleged attacker, I can't really have an opinion about any of this. That's been the fun part, really.”  
  
“Man, Craig never forced him!” Tweek said, fidgeting madly now, bread crumbs dropping everywhere. “I was there every time, and it was never like that! We would do stuff, me and Craig, and Clyde would beg to watch – he was the one who sort of, like, threw himself onto us, Jesus!”  
  
“That's how it happened?” Token asked, looking at Craig, whose eyes had gone dark, daring Token to think that he'd ever had it in him to force Clyde. Token knew Craig; he knew him just as well as he knew Clyde, but suddenly that seemed to be not very well at all, and he felt untethered. He passed the drink back to Craig, who drained it.   
  
“Maybe Clyde never really knew what he wanted,” Craig said. “But he sure as shit seemed to, until about a year ago. He was always the instigator, in the beginning. 'Craig, can I suck your cock, please, I'll do anything, just let me lick it a little-'”  
  
“Okay, okay,” Token said, wincing. He does remember that, how Clyde would tremble with anticipation and sink to his knees like he'd never wanted anything more.   
  
“He would beg,” Tweek said, nodding. “And we both – me and Craig, ah, shit! We liked it!”  
  
“Clyde liked it, too,” Craig said. “I think he also liked the idea that he could make me lose interest in Tweek if he sucked me better or something.” Craig's eyes were burning into Token's, and there was only the barest hint of the vulnerability that used to pour off of him like steam when he let Token get close enough to see it. “You know what I'm talking about,” Craig said.  
  
“He was in love with you,” Token said, humiliated. “I remember.”   
  
“Then I gained a few pounds, or maybe more like – forty – and I still wanted Tweek, and Clyde decided to retroactively not waste his time being in love with me,” Craig said. “Only he couldn't actually get the years back, so he decided to rewrite history. I'm getting a refill.”   
  
He went back into the living room with the empty glass. Token looked at Tweek, who seemed stricken, only picking at his bread now.   
  
“Was there a big fight?” Token asked. “Some night when all of this came out?”  
  
“It was sort of – ah – gradual,” Tweek said. “Clyde would tell us he was moving out, and we'd be like, okay, that's cool, and then he'd get – all-” Tweek winced and looked to Craig, who was coming back in, drinking.  
  
“He'd sob and ask us why we didn't care about him, mostly,” Craig said. “And me being the rapist bastard I am, I'd actually try to comfort the motherfucker, and I don't mean with my dick. Me and Tweek both – Jesus, I mean, we'd _hold him_ and listen to these fucking meltdowns until he'd cried himself to sleep, and I'd be gritting my teeth, sure, but fuck, Token, I did – you know.” Craig scowled and set the glass down harder than necessary. “Love him,” he said, muttering.   
  
“I know,” Token said, though he'd really never been sure. Now he feels like it's true, because Craig is a disaster and he's pretending that it's not because of what Clyde thinks of him. “Jesus,” Token said. “What a fucking mess. Poor Clyde.”   
  
“Poor _Clyde_?” Craig said, instantly enraged. “How about us? He used us for emotional – whatever – for three years – no, for more like, ten? I could have told him to fuck off when he begged me to let him watch me with Tweek, but I didn't, 'cause I figured the fact that he wanted to was kind of my fault, since I'd jerked Tweek off in front of you guys that time-”   
  
“Christ, I can't even think about all this,” Token said, feeling as he was covered with a film of grease, which was partly true, considering the Taco Bell.   
  
“That wasn't against my will or anything!” Tweek squawked. “I mean, it's kind of a – thing I have.” He shrunk in on himself, blushing. “Ah, letting people watch.”   
  
“Yeah, I remember,” Token said. He held his hand out, and Craig slid the glass of vodka into it again.   
  
“So I come home from work one day and Clyde is packing up all his shit,” Craig said. “And I'm like, 'here we go again.' He says he's moving out, and I say fine, Clyde, go, because by then things have gotten kind of tense, and I hadn't fucked him in like a month anyway. I figured he'd met some other guy. He barely spoke to me, he just left, and he didn't turn up on the doorstep at three AM sobbing about how this proved I'd never loved him, blah blah, so I thought, great. Clyde's actually found someone.”  
  
“I'm sure you weren't jealous at all,” Token said.  
  
“Oh, fuck you, so what if I was? I didn't try to stop him. Then, a couple of days later, I see him out at this bar, alone, crying into a fucking Woodchuck pear cider, of all things, and I go over to try to comfort him, and Clyde decides it'd be a good time to stand up, call me a son of a bitch and punch me in the face.”  
  
“Jesus!” Tweek said, putting his hands over his eyes, his elbows on the counter. “It was terrible! Craig had a fractured cheek bone – he could have lost his eye!”  
  
“There was a very remote possibility that my vision could have been affected,” Craig said, rolling his eyes and rubbing Tweek's back. “But anyway. Every time I tried to confront Clyde about it – after I got out of the fucking _hospital_ – he told me that I'd ruined his life and that I was in a sexual predator, and so on, and so forth.”   
  
“Bebe didn't tell me about any of this,” Token said, reeling.   
  
“This was before she moved back to town to devote her life to getting nailed by the late Mr. McCormick,” Craig said.   
  
“Hey, c'mon,” Token said. “Have some sympathy.”   
  
“Anyway,” Craig said, inching toward the living room, presumably for a refill. “Bebe doesn't know shit about shit, because Clyde is embarrassed, or whatever. Frankly, Token? Clyde is so deep in denial that I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to move in on Bebe now that Kenny's dead. She already acts like she's Clyde's fucking mother, and that's what he really wants, you know. A mother. Preferably one that's got a dick to fuck him with, but you can't win 'em all.”   
  
Craig seemed pretty drunk, and Token was starting to get there himself. He sighed and looked over at Tweek while Craig slipped off to get his refill.   
  
“Do you have any idea what set Clyde off?” Token asked.  
  
“No!” Tweek said. “It was fucking random! Although, ah.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Well, he was kind of a – time bomb, at that point. He would lose his shit over anything – if the drain was clogged, if the DVR messed up some recording he wanted to watch – he'd flip out and get really angry, or he'd start, gah, sobbing-”  
  
“Tweek was more patient than I was,” Craig said, returning. “He'd pet Clyde for hours sometimes. It was getting old. The guy needs mental help. He'll tell anyone who listens that it's my fault, but he was always a little – touched. No pun intended.”   
  
“He wasn't,” Token said, rubbing his eyes. He reached for Craig's drink, not sure how he could justify saying that Clyde didn't have problems even back in the day. Anyone who voluntarily attended the church of Craig did, himself included. Token looked at Tweek, wondering why this had been different for him. He feared it was only because Craig loved Tweek back, or anyway, loved him more than he'd ever loved Clyde.   
  
Token was tired of even thinking of the word _love_ , one that he'd only ever exchanged, in a romantic sense, with Clyde. He paced around the kitchen, arrived at the fridge and got himself a beer.  
  
“Fuck it, anyway,” Craig said. “Let's just get shit-faced.” Like that wasn't what they were already doing. Token turned to see Tweek shaking his head when Craig offered him some of his drink.   
  
“I'm tired, man,” Tweek said, looking up at Craig with pleading eyes. “Can't we just go home?”  
  
“Absolutely not,” Craig said. “The night is young.”  
  
“Don't say that,” Token said, too sharply. “Look – I'm tired, too. You guys are welcome to sleep here. You probably shouldn't be driving. I mean, Craig, you definitely shouldn't be driving-”  
  
“You assume Tweek never got his driver's license?” Craig said. Token looked at Tweek, surprised, but Tweek shook his head.  
  
“Too much pressure!” he said, shouting this. Token nodded slowly.  
  
“Token you have just opened a beer,” Craig said. “This is no time for sleep.”   
  
“Let Tweek lie down, anyway,” Token said. “You could use one of the guest rooms,” he said, walking to Tweek and squeezing his shoulder.   
  
“I don't know man,” Tweek said. “Your house kinda – gah – freaks me out! It's too big! I feel like I'm gonna get bitten by a vampire or something.”  
  
“Oh,” Token said. He chugged beer and tried to meet Craig's eyes, but Craig was rubbing Tweek's neck, attending to him fondly, the way he always did when Tweek got particularly insane.   
  
“Go lie down on the couch if you want,” Craig said. “You remember how to turn the fireplace on, don't you?”  
  
“Fire makes me nervous!”  
  
“Ah, well. Then just go curl up under a blanket. I'll be there in a minute.” Craig kissed Tweek over the bridge of his nose, so tenderly that Token had to look away.   
  
“Don't let me sleep too long,” Tweek said, and he headed for the living room, his arms wrapped around himself.   
  
“Want to go outside?” Craig asked.  
  
“Okay,” Token said, though he feared what Craig would say when they were alone together. He didn't feel like he once had, like Craig was pining for him, always on the verge of giving up something that seemed small and sad to Token, though big enough to roll over Clyde and Tweek completely if Craig ever showed it to them. Still, Craig seemed to need something from him that he was never going to get from the others, and Token was nervous about this as they walked out into the cold.   
  
The back patio needed a sweeping, and the stones felt as icy as a frozen pond as they walked down toward the pool. The underwater lights were off, and the pool was steaming against the temperature of the air, looking like an enchanted lagoon that they'd come to make an offering to. Craig sighed.   
  
“You would hate China,” he said.  
  
“You've been?” Token knew he hadn't. Craig rolled his eyes.  
  
“You know I'm right,” he said.  
  
“Let me ask you something,” Token said, unnerved by the prospect of discussing his real life with Craig, a phantom from childhood who had felt as real as an evaporated imaginary friend when Token left for Boston. Still, this question was one that Token would never ask if he wasn't drunk. “Do you guys – I mean, did you ever, like. Talk about me?”  
  
“Me and Tweek?” Craig asked, and then he smiled, because he knew that wasn't what Token was asking.   
  
“And Clyde,” Token said. “Did he talk about me?”  
  
“Nope,” Craig said. “Never. To a conspicuous degree.”  
  
“Come again?”  
  
“The fact that he never talked about you made it pretty obvious,” Craig said. “Or maybe I'm just projecting.”   
  
“Projecting what?” Token asked, afraid that he'd overestimated Craig's drunkenness.   
  
“Listen,” Craig said, holding up his drink, two fingers lifted. “Are all bets off? 'Cause if all bets are off, I can lay some shit out for you.”   
  
“What the fuck are you talking about?”  
  
“Clyde was never in love with me,” Craig said. “He was infatuated, maybe, when he was a kid, but that just crystallized into the weird sex thing, complicated by the fact that we were actually friends, and we did actually trust each other – well, sort of. Mostly. Do you remember that night in my basement, when you kissed him?”  
  
“Yeah.” Token never thought he'd be forced to talk about that. It felt, in hindsight, like the one moment in his life when he'd known exactly what to do, and that he was just the man for the job, and the feeling lasted until the morning, when Clyde crawled between Craig's legs.   
  
“That rocked our fucking world,” Craig said. “Mine and Tweek's, 'cause we'd been so sure you weren't – like that – and Clyde's, because, Jesus. You were what he really wanted. We all knew it, man. You knew it.”  
  
“No, I didn't!” Token said, getting angry. “And if that's – if you thought that, why the hell did you ask him to blow you in the morning?”  
  
“'Cause I was fifteen years old,” Craig said, his voice as stony as always, immovable. “And because I thought he'd say no.”  
  
“Yeah? So why the hell did he say yes, if he was so in love with me?”  
  
“That part remains a mystery to me,” Craig said. He shrugged. “You'd have to ask him.”  
  
“I don't need to ask him – I'll tell you right now. You were the one he really wanted. You were the one he stayed with, the one he always went crawling back to-”  
  
“Only because he knew I'd take him,” Craig said. He was starting to look angry, though subtly. “He didn't know that about you. And then he hated himself when he realized that he could have had you if he'd had even half a fucking spine. You want to know what set him off, Token? Wake the fuck up. It was when Bebe told us you'd come out, that you were gay, that you had some Bostonian boyfriend. Clyde lost his shit.”   
  
“Why didn't you say that before?” Token asked, heat creeping down along the back of his neck, into his collar.   
  
“I guess I didn't want you to know.”  
  
Token stared at Craig, waiting for further explanation. Craig drained his drink with such a dramatic flick of his chin that Token was afraid he'd smash the glass on the patio and throw a punch when it was gone. He didn't, just turned the glass in his hand like it was a bottle of wine he was considering buying.   
  
“Also,” Craig said. “I kind of wanted you for myself, at one point. But don't get all – flattered by that. I wanted all of you to like me best. Clyde and Tweek were easy, or easy enough, in Clyde's case. You, I don't know. I felt like it would mean something if I could get you to want me, but you just didn't. Not even – that night.”   
  
That night. Sometimes Token would forget that he'd had sex with Craig, once, on New Year's Eve. It didn't feel like sex, and not because it wasn't intimate or satisfying; it did mean something to both of them. The problem was that it meant such wildly different things that it was as if they went through it in separate dimensions.  
  
“What happened was my fault,” Token said, because Craig wouldn't look at him, and because Token was starting to think this was actually the case. “I did everything wrong.”   
  
“Well, we all did everything wrong,” Craig said, composed again, scoffing. “They might as well have made that the motto of our graduating class. At least you and me didn't get anyone pregnant.” He clicked his empty glass against Token's beer bottle to toast this.  
  
“Clyde said we were like Stan and Kyle,” Token said. “When we were out at his car together, earlier. I don't know what the fuck he meant by that.”   
  
“I guess he meant we're all fags or something,” Craig said with a shrug. “Oh, but, wait. Clyde says he isn't one now, right?”  
  
“He's just – alone,” Token said, his ability to string meaningful bits of conversation together fading. “He's alone with all of this. You got mad at me for feeling bad for him and not for you and Tweek, but you guys have each other. Right?”  
  
“What do you mean, 'right?'” Craig said, frowning. “Of course me and Tweek have each other. That's all we have, though. We're outcasts.”   
  
“Oh, God,” Token said, mumbling. “You're being dramatic.”   
  
“Am I? Nobody at that party talked to us, except you-”  
  
“Stan hugged Tweek! You're just pissed off that you can't treat everyone like crap and still be worshiped. It's not high school anymore, Craig. You're lucky you had that once.”   
  
“I don't feel lucky,” Craig said, and he lobbed the empty glass into the pool. It landed with a heavy _plunk_ and bobbed in the center of the water, sending out ripples that seemed to promise a sea monster would soon emerge from the dark.   
  
“You just threw glass into my fucking pool,” Token said. Somehow he couldn't muster up any actual rage about this.  
  
“You'll live,” Craig said, staring at the glass as it overturned and sank. “Anyway, it was an offering.”  
  
“An offering.”  
  
“Yeah. To the last time I was in that pool.”   
  
That was the night of the many significant events. New Year's Eve. Token pulled Craig to him, and he only resisted a little before he let Token hug him.  
  
“It wasn't your fault,” Token said. “We were all kids, making our own mistakes.”  
  
Craig said nothing. He put his hands on Token's back, and Token could feel him shivering. It was so strange, how soft he'd gotten. Token had never really hugged him when he was skinny, except for that one time, when he was in Token's lap, when Token was trying to stop meeting Clyde's eyes over Craig's shoulder.   
  
“Let's go in,” Token said, pulling back. “It's freezing out here.”   
  
“Sure you don't want to swim?” Craig asked, and when he smirked, he looked just like his seventeen-year-old self, even with the double chin. “See which one of us ends up with broken glass in his foot?”  
  
“I don't want any bloodshed tonight,” Token said, and he wasn't sure if it was cruel or kind, refusing to play this game with Craig anymore.   
  
“Well, alright,” Craig said, his hands dropping away from Token's back. He was still smiling, though it might have become less authentic. It was hard to tell in the dark. “I guess Tweek will want me, anyway. To fend off vampires.”   
  
“He's joking when he says that stuff, right?”  
  
“Oh, Token.”  
  
Craig walked back inside, finished with the conversation. Token followed, maybe just out of habit.  
  
*  
  
In the morning, Token's hangover covered him like a gauzy material, a blurry spiderweb of pain that kept him stuck to his sheets long past the hour when a respectable host should rise. When he finally got up, he wondered if Craig and Tweek would even still be there. They were: Craig was a lump beneath the blankets on the sofa, apparently so self conscious about his forthcoming baldness that he'd worn his knit hat to bed. Tweek was milling around the kitchen, drinking coffee. He startled when he saw Token, but only a little, smiling.   
  
“Hey!” he said, loud enough that Token was tempted to bring a finger to his lips, for the sake of his own headache if not for the fact that Craig seemed to still be sleeping. “I hope you don't mind – gah! I made coffee!”  
  
“No, that's great, actually,” Token said, getting a mug down from the cabinet over the stove top. “Thanks.”   
  
“Today is Kenny's funeral,” Tweek said when Token went to the fridge for creamer, finding none. He used milk instead, nodding, surprised by Tweek's sudden solemnity. He'd never thought about Tweek enough to wonder what he would turn into when faced with something truly terrifying, like a dead friend who'd been the same age as him.   
  
“I wonder who will speak,” Token said, relieved that no one had asked him to, though he hadn't been close to Kenny in recent years. He thought of himself as the sort of person who was in danger of being appealed to when it came to funerary things and speeches, or anyway it was an anxiety he had, maybe only because he owned more nice suits than most of his friends.   
  
“Kyle, probably,” Tweek said. He was twirling his coffee mug around on the countertop, producing a particularly grating noise. “Maybe Stan? And Bebe, I guess, if she's not too – ah. Upset.”   
  
Token nodded to himself, thinking of Bebe in the front row, maybe in the pew across the aisle from the McCormick family. The McCormicks would be drunk, save for Karen, who would sob more quietly than her mother. Bebe would either be overwhelmed to the point of stoicism or sobbing into Clyde's shirt. Thinking of seeing Clyde after his conversation with Craig last night made Token's stomach pitch, and the memory of the Taco Bell sent him upstairs to get sick properly. He took a long, hot shower when his stomach was empty, and after some initial paltry resistance, allowed himself to imagine Clyde there with him, soaking wet and glowing with warmth under Token's soapy hands, letting Token make him clean again. Token shut off the water before he could go as far as jerking himself off. Growing up, he'd often dreamed of saving Clyde from Craig, and this was before he'd even fallen onto Clyde and kissed him. The fantasy of saving Clyde was dangerous and insulting to everyone involved, oversimplified, nothing he had ever actually believed he could or needed to do.   
  
Downstairs, Craig had roused, though he looked barely awake at the kitchen counter, slumped and squinting, still wearing that hat. Token patted his soft shoulders as he passed behind him, wondering if Craig would be moved or insulted by the gesture. When they were kids, he had never worried about how Craig would interpret his touches: he would be flattered if Craig misinterpreted them and amused if he was irritated by them.   
  
“Do you want some coffee?” Token asked, starting to get more for himself before thinking better of it. His stomach was still tender. Craig shook his head.  
  
“You know I don't drink it,” Craig said.   
  
“Oh, right.” Token had thought he might have started, maybe just because of so many years of proximity to Tweek. “Something to eat, then?”  
  
“God, no,” Craig said, moaning. “Look how sunny it is outside. It's terrible weather for a hangover. Not to mention a funeral. Do you think I should go?”  
  
“To the funeral? I guess I assumed you both would. When was the last time you saw Kenny?”  
  
“He used to come for take out sometimes,” Craig said. Craig worked the register at a failing Greek restaurant downtown. Bebe had told Token this, and Token had been surprised at first, but after some consideration it seemed right. Craig had never been big on ambition after his broadcasting efforts ended in disgrace in elementary school. “He always ordered the same thing,” Craig said, his chin resting in his palm. “Two gyros, one with extra feta, one with no tomatoes, fried potatoes, and three baklavas.”   
  
For a while they all were all silent, as if reflecting on what this meant about Kenny. Token was dreading the funeral. He had never been to one for someone so young.  
  
“Oh, and two Cokes,” Craig said, frowning. “One diet, one regular.”   
  
“It must have been for him and Bebe,” Token said. He thought of her in bed this morning, and wondered if this would be the day when the lukewarm goo of the initial mourning period would seem to crystallize into the cold reality of the rest of her life without Kenny: no more waiting on the sofa while Kenny shrugged on his jacket and went to pick up dinner, no boyfriend who knew to order her sandwiches without tomatoes.   
  
“I think we should go!” Tweek said, seemingly disturbed by the prospect of skipping the funeral, his hands shaking around his latest cup of coffee. “He – ah – he was our friend!”  
  
“Not really,” Craig said. “Though he was a surprisingly good tipper.”   
  
“If you go, you can't get started with trying to be – funny,” Token said, giving Craig a look of warning that he hoped he would take seriously.   
  
“I'm never trying to be funny,” Craig said. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“Last night, at the get-together. That shit you were saying about how, uh. Kenny would have wanted Butters to drink a Corona, and how Kenny would have wanted us to talk about sex robots.”  
  
“Both of those things are true and you know it. You're just upset that it sent Clyde running out of the apartment like a weeping heroine in a Hallmark movie.”   
  
“What if I am?” Token asked, raising his voice. He wasn't about to be picked on about Clyde in the light of day, sober, in his own house. “All I'm saying is that you'd better be careful not to upset anyone. Even Clyde.”  
  
“Especially Clyde,” Craig said, grinning. “Yeah?”  
  
“No. Especially Bebe.” Token stared Craig down until he rolled his eyes, which was a concession. If Craig thought he could win something he wouldn't even blink, sometimes for inhuman amounts of time.   
  
“If I'm not allowed to commentate on developments, I don't see why I should go,” Craig said.  
  
“Craig!” Tweek said. He went to him and tugged on his elbow, shivering with angst. “Ah, you have to come! Don't make me go alone!”  
  
“Token could take you,” Craig said.   
  
“But – gah! But-”  
  
“Oh, alright, alright,” Craig said, sliding an arm around Tweek's tiny waist. He pulled Tweek to him and kissed his cheek. “For you, I'll go.”  
  
“And – ah – you'll be nice to Clyde?” Tweek said, pressing the tips of his fingers together. Craig frowned.  
  
“I'm always nice to Clyde,” he said. “Clyde is the one who punched me in the face, you'll recall.”  
  
“I know, ah, it's just-”  
  
“Just don't make everything about you,” Token said, because Tweek would never be able to articulate what they were both thinking. “However tempting it gets. However good your punchline is. If you need to impress somebody with some asshole remark, just whisper it in my ear.”   
  
“Oh, but I thought we were trying _not_ to upset dear Clyde?” Craig said. He smirked. “That was a pretty good one. I would have whispered that one to you.”   
  
“Clyde doesn't want anything to do with me anymore, either,” Token said. “Last night – at the car, and then, um. In Stan and Kyle's room, with Bebe. There was nothing. He's closed up. So, look. It's the three of us, together. You guys won't feel like outcasts, I promise.”   
  
“This is the kind of town that you _want_ to feel outcast in,” Craig said, sliding off the bar stool. “But, listen. It's not as if I have anything better to do. And like I said, Kenny gave good tips. He even tried to make chit chat about the Broncos, once. You ready to go home and shower?” he asked Tweek.  
  
“Yeah,” Tweek said, smiling. He seemed drugged by the very prospect of being brought home by Craig and cleaned up. Token was jealous, and he tried to imagine what Clyde would have said if Token had tried that line on him last night: _Want to come home with me and take a shower?_  
  
“So, we'll pick you up in -” Craig looked at the grandfather clock in the foyer as they headed toward the front door, and he made a horse-like sound of disapproval. “God, an hour? It's already eleven?”  
  
“Seems that way,” Token said. “That clock is always right,” he added, and then he felt stupid, as if he was defending his parents' honor or something. Craig smirked. “And anyway,” Token said, a little sharply. “I should really pick you two up. Since you did me the favor of driving last night.”  
  
“Oh, right, pick a car from the collection,” Craig said, rubbing his hands together. “Though it would be more in keeping with the theme of the thing if we showed up in my beater.”  
  
“The theme?” Token said dryly, not really wanting to know.   
  
“Poverty or whatever,” Craig said. “I mean, it's Kenny.” Craig shrugged, and it didn't seem like a cruel remark, maybe because Craig was essentially poor, and actually always had been, not just compared to Token but to most of their other classmates. Cartman used to give him hell for being on welfare, though Cartman's mother had been, too, from time to time.   
  
“I'll drive,” Token said, leaving it at that. “Be ready at noon.”   
  
“Yes, your majesty,” Craig said, and then he caught Token completely off guard by hugging him. Tweek joined in with an enthusiastic little noise, putting his caffeinated arms around both of them.   
  
“I'm so glad you came home!” Tweek said in a kind of shriek, and Token imagined Craig with his hand up inside Tweek's shirt, moving his fingers in a way that indicated he should say this for both of them.  
  
“Me too,” Token said, and though it shouldn't have been true, it mostly was, somehow.


	4. Chapter 4

When they were gone, Token ate half of a stale bagel, plain, and went upstairs to dress. He put on his slacks and undershirt, leaving his dress shirt and coat off so that they wouldn't wrinkle. At the bookshelf near his bed, he scanned the spines until he found his senior high school yearbook. He moaned at his own sentimentality, or self-destructiveness, or whatever it was, and pulled it off the shelf.  
  
He flipped to Craig's picture first, needing to remember him as he had been. Token smiled as soon as he found it, though it actually made him feel sad and spied upon, like Craig was gazing at it with him, from over his shoulder. Craig had been an uncommonly beautiful teenager, but no one in South Park had been surprised to see him grow into one. He'd been the kind of child that made strangers stop to compliment his parents, almost vampirically pretty, something otherworldly that seemed to glow not with warmth but the way untouched snow does under a pale gray sky. Token would have been tempted to blame the dawning of anybody's sexual awakening on Craig, and there were certainly enough gay boys in his graduating class to raise eyebrows. But Craig hadn't been the one who gave Token his own epiphany. It was Clyde, that night on the couch, the way he'd smiled in the dark. For Token, Clyde had glowed like a thing _should_ : as if he was the center of all light in the universe, a source of heat that was constantly threatened by the unkind things that circled around him.  
  
Token turned to Clyde's picture and felt embarrassed for himself, because it didn't do Clyde justice. Clyde's senior picture hadn't accurately captured the way he had looked when he slumped against the locker beside Token's and grinned. In the picture, Clyde is barely smiling, trying to look cool, or tough, or something. His hair cut is bad, his bangs too straight; Clyde's father cut his hair throughout high school, because he had some irrational fear of barbers. Craig gave him hell for it, which was unfair. Craig could get a ten dollar hack job from Great Clips and still look like the most fuckable thing in the tri-county area, back then. Maybe Craig's baldness was poetic justice, but it made Token sick to think of it that way. He wanted everything back the way it had been, wanted to be able to sort through it like these glossy pages, all the people in his world lined up in alphabetical order, easy to find. He flipped to Kenny, but he wasn't there. Kenny had made a habit of missing picture day, and was usually just listed at the end, often alone: _Not pictured: Kenny McCormick_.  
  
At quarter till noon he buttoned up his shirt, tucked it in, and slipped the jacket on. He had intentionally picked one of his less expensive suits, mindful about what Craig said about the theme. It wasn't really a theme so much as a dress code, and Token had never really been able to adhere to its rules, even when he tried to dress down to match his classmates. His jeans were always a little cleaner, and his sweaters fit properly, something that made him self conscious when was still trying not to be gay. Still, he couldn't bring himself to wear something baggy and ill-fitting. Dressing badly made him more uncomfortable than being noticeably tailored.  
  
Craig had told him before leaving that he and Tweek were living in the Cedar Hills apartments behind the movie theater, and Token remembered how to get there without having to activate the GPS on the dash of the car, something he felt proud about until he actually arrived at Cedar Hills. When he was younger Cedar Hills hadn't seemed so bad, and in his memory it hadn't been very different from Stan and Kyle's neatly kept apartment complex with its card-activated front gate and lingering construction site smell of sawdust and fresh paint. Cedar Hills clearly had not been painted in some years, and the overall impression the place gave was of something that was chipping apart a little at a time and had been since 1975 or so.  
  
Token supposed that with only one income from Craig's Greek restaurant job and Tweek still paying for however many classes he could afford per semester he should be impressed that they'd even managed this without help from their parents. Tweek's parents had insisted that he continue taking whatever anxiety medication they'd given him in high school if he wanted their financial support, but Tweek refused, either out of paranoia about the government being involved somehow or because he couldn't get an erection when he was taking the stuff; Token remembered listening to rants about both back in high school. Tweek had chosen independence over financial security, which was both admirable and insane. Craig's parents were destitute in comparison to Tweek's, and not the type to volunteer help, anyway.  
  
“Which car did you bring?” Craig asked as soon as he'd opened the door. He and Tweek hurried out into the breezeway, not inviting Token into the apartment, from which emanated the strong scent of recently brewed coffee, along with something more faint and pet-like.  
  
“The Lexus,” Token said, noting their clothes. Craig was in black pants and a black sweater that was too small for him, the pale blue collar of an Oxford shirt sticking out from beneath it. At least he'd tucked in his shirt. Tweek was in a suit that looked like the same one he'd worn to their high school graduation, dark gray with a coffee-colored tie that matched his eyes. They both smelled like shampoo and soap, and Craig was still wearing the knit hat.  
  
“Didn't want to bring out the Maserati?” Craig asked when they reached the car. Token was surprised when Craig opened the door for Tweek and let him have the front seat.  
  
“We do not own a Maserati,” Token said. “You know, um. I don't want to sound like a dick, but you can't wear that hat in the church.”  
  
“I'm aware,” Craig said. “Just leave me my dignity for as long as possible. Or is your car too fancy for hats, too?”  
  
“Craig, Jesus. If you've even lost any hair, it's very unnoticeable.”  
  
Craig rolled his eyes as if Token was only flattering him. Token had thought Craig's hair looked a bit thinner when it was revealed, but it wouldn't have occurred to him if Craig hadn't pointed it out, or unless he'd put his fingers through it. He got into the car and let Tweek fiddle with the satellite radio until Craig told him to stop.  
  
“I've never been to a funeral!” Tweek said, his hands twisting around his seat belt.  
  
“You have,” Token said. “Remember when Clyde Frog 'died?'”  
  
“What?” Tweek said. “Cartman's doll? What are you talking about?”  
  
“That was when Tweek was sick,” Craig said, leaning forward to whack Token's shoulder with the side of his hand.  
  
“Oh – right,” Token said, sorry that he'd brought that up. Tweek went somewhere for mental evaluation just before fifth grade. He came back the same, though he was occasionally medicated for the remainder of their school years. Tweek on meds was eerie; he became a kind of vacant stranger, always tired. Craig had hated seeing him that way, and Tweek's parents hated Craig, because they believed he'd talked Tweek out of taking medication and that he'd taken advantage of Tweek in turn. Token's hands tightened on the steering wheel. He hadn't considered that, Craig's history of being accused of manipulating the people he claimed to love into harm. He wondered if Clyde had.  
  
“Who's hosting the after party?” Craig asked.  
  
“It's called a reception,” Token said. “Remember our agreement about not being a smart ass?”  
  
“I remember a discussion,” Craig said. “Not an agreement. And I'm sorry if I refer to anything with cookies and punch as a party, but that's just the way I think. So? Where will it be?”  
  
“Bebe's parents' house,” Token said. “Shit, I should have called her this morning.”  
  
“I'm sure she'll forgive you,” Craig said. “You needed to catch up with us. You're not going to ditch us as soon as you're back among the cool kids, are you?”  
  
“Craig. High school is over. There are no more cool kids.”  
  
“Don't lie to yourself just because you're not one of them anymore,” Craig said. He was leaning between their seats, still wearing the hat.  
  
“Put your fucking seat belt on,” Token said, and he was surprised when Craig obeyed.  
  
The church was crowded by the time they arrived, and finding parking was a bitch. Token finally got a spot on the back lawn, and Tweek fretted that they would be towed, but Craig calmed him by helping him out of the car and hooking their arms together. They walked toward the church like that, and it made Token anxious, considering the political leanings that some of Kenny's relatives were sure to have. Craig seemed self-conscious and determined not to let it show, and he allowed Token and Tweek to help him straighten his hair after the hat had come off. It was matted and only half-dry, a shadow of its former self mostly because of Craig's efforts to conceal it, not because it had gotten very thin, though there was more beach front real estate over his temples than there had been five years ago.  
  
“Should we sit with Stan and Kyle?” Token asked in a whisper as they entered the church, only Tweek pausing to bless himself with holy water.  
  
“They'll be with Ike and Butters, which might mean Cartman,” Craig said. “So I think not.”  
  
“How about Wendy?” Token asked, because she was sitting alone toward the back.  
  
“She might interpret that as a come on,” Craig said, and Token frowned, but he had a point.  
  
“Alone then,” he said, because that was obviously what Craig wanted, and Token nodded to an empty area three rows behind the place where Stan and Kyle were sitting, flanked by their parents. It was funny to see Kyle in church, and Token hoped he wouldn't be forced to eulogize, though he couldn't imagine who else might do it. Stan might have something more touching to say, but he seemed more likely to break down.  
  
They settled in together, Craig in the middle, and Token noticed that Butters was speaking to the priest. Cartman was lingering nearby, and Token wondered why until he saw Cartman's little boy clinging to the leg of Butters' trousers, staring up at Butters with a questioning, worrisome look on his face, as if he was afraid that Butters was about to be sacrificed on an altar. Cartman had renounced Catholicism in the process of begging Patty to get an abortion, and there was no telling what sort of information about religion that he'd handed down to Nelson.  
  
The priest was somebody new and young, and Token wanted to ask what had happened to Father Maxi, but he didn't want to risk getting Craig into a whispered gossiping session during the opening remarks, so he saved the question for later. There were readings from the Bible chosen by Kenny's family – Bebe, Token guessed, or maybe Karen, though last night she'd hardly seemed capable of choosing her own clothes. Token got one of the Bibles from the shelf on the pew in front of them and pretended to read along, though for the most part he couldn't really listen. He kept trying to imagine what it would be like to die under the wheels of a train. At school, he'd read about funeral services where everybody in attendance – or maybe just the women – keened as loudly and for as long as possible, and he'd forgotten which culture did that, but it seemed the only appropriate thing, though also frightening and dreadful to contemplate. He liked the idea that the living should suffer a little for the dead, and he supposed listening to Bible readings was a small measure of suffering, at least for him. To his surprise, the priest introduced Butters as the eulogist when the readings and some original material about God and death were through.  
  
“When we were kids, we used to play this superhero game,” Butters said, jumping right into it without transition and seemingly with no sense of self-consciousness. He was gripping the podium and leaning forward slightly like an evangelist preacher who was about to lay some serious shit on them. “Well, I was a villain,” he said, and a few people laughed. “And so was Eric,” he added, smiling a little when this drew more laughter from the crowd.  
  
Token could hear a faint 'ey' from the front. Craig leaned over and put his lips against Token's ear.  
  
“You guys played that without us,” he whispered, as if this proved something. Token rolled his eyes, though it was true, and a somewhat valid point. This had been just after Tweek was sent away, when Craig was in a persistent funk. Token distinctly remembered the decision not to call Craig and invite him to play. Token and Clyde had fretted over it, and Token was so relieved when Clyde agreed with him: Craig would only laugh at them for playing something so childish. Neither of them had wanted to be laughed at that day, their superhero costumes already half finished.  
  
“We all had our own super powers,” Butters continued, and Token's heart sped up when he began to fear that he knew where Butters was going with this. “Stan could manipulate power tools.” Token heard Randy Marsh laugh sort of proudly, as if this proved his son was butch despite everything. “Kyle could fly!” Butters said. “Clyde, I think you could fly, too, you had those little, um, mosquito wings. And Kenny used to say that his power was that he couldn't die.”  
  
Butters was at least tactful enough to pause there and listen to the silence of the room. Token's jaw was tight, and he hoped Butters had something fucking fantastic to follow that with.  
  
“I used to think, what's the fun in that?” Butters said. “Just being invincible, well, it sort of erased the high stakes, didn't it? But Kenny never used his power to be unfair when we played our game. He sort of hung back and let us get into scrapes, and he'd come to his friends' defense when they needed it, all quiet-like. I always sort of wondered why Kenny'd picked that super power, 'cause he wasn't braggy and determined to beat the other kids. Heck, invincibility seemed more like Eric's thing.”  
  
There was some faint, angry muttering from the front of the room, and Craig grinned. He leaned over to Token again.  
  
“This is kind of awesome,” he whispered, and Token smiled in agreement, then thought of Bebe in the front row. He craned his neck until he could see the back of her head. Her mother was sitting to her left, Clyde to her right. Token would know the back of Clyde's head anywhere: that particular boyish part in his hair, and the insuppressible cow lick that made Token want to devote his life trying in vain to stroke it back into place.  
  
“We even suggested a few other super powers that Kenny might like better,” Butters said. “Like X-ray vision.” Only Craig dared to laugh, and Token squeezed his knee hard to keep him from going overboard. “But Kenny was real adamant: his power was that he couldn't die. And you know what he did, after Eric became a villain and started giving me a hard time and treating me like his lackey? Kenny said that Professor Chaos could join the good guys, and the others were real skeptical, but Kenny insisted. At first I thought he was just trying to make up for hurting my eye the last time we'd played make believe, but that wasn't it. Kenny wasn't like the rest of us, even back then. He had a real super power. He must have got exposed to some radiation as a baby or something, because he had a heart that was about four sizes bigger than normal.”  
  
“Was a sloppy radiation poisoning metaphor really necessary?” Craig asked, whispering.  
  
“Shh,” Token said. Tweek was sniffling, wiping his nose on the cuffs of his jacket.  
  
“I think all the real heroes do their work sorta quietly,” Butters said. “That's how Kenny was when we played super heroes, following our lead and helping us out, and that's how he was when he grew up, too. Seems like Kenny helped take care of everybody without asking for nothing in return. Whenever one of us needed something, he was there, like magic. And that was how he died, looking after us like he always had. It wasn't 'cause he really believed that he couldn't die, but I think he would have kept on trying to tell us that with a straight face if that meant we'd let him do anything to protect us.”  
  
When Butters was through, they played Carol King singing 'So Far Away' over the church's sound system. It was bizarre, but it was also the only part of the ceremony that made Token's eyes get wet, maybe because he could see Bebe falling apart up in the front row, Clyde wrapped around her.  
  
After the song, the priest made a few closing remarks that Token tuned out. He sneaked a glance at Craig to see if he'd been moved by any of that. It was hard to say. Craig had his arm around Tweek, who was sniffling against Craig's neck. Token envied them, and tried to imagine how hard it would have been to live with them and bear witness to their strange harmony all the time. He couldn't really imagine it, because he'd never been in love with either of them, but he could imagine how hard it would have been to stay here in South Park and watch Clyde do Craig's bidding. That was why he'd left, and he curled his hands into fists over his knees, determined to tell Clyde so before he skipped town again. Clyde thought Token left to escape the influence of Craig, but Token had never been its prisoner. He left because Clyde wouldn't.  
  
People stood around outside near the church steps after the funeral, and Token wanted to linger and make unhappy small talk with everyone else, but Craig pulled him toward the car, saying they needed to get a jump on leaving or risk getting stuck in traffic. There was a graveside service for family only, and Token was glad to be excluded. He felt awkward leaving first, but part of him was relieved to be alone with Craig and Tweek again. They would see the others at the party – the reception.  
  
“Should we go straight to Bebe's?” Token asked. Craig was in the backseat with Tweek, holding him while he continued to sniffle intermittently. Token felt like a chauffeur.  
  
“I don't want to be the first ones there,” Craig said. “Let's stop and get coffee.”  
  
By coffee he meant donuts; Craig had three. Token and Tweek stuck to coffee.  
  
"Was the dig about Kenny throwing a ninja star into Butters' eye really appropriate?" Craig asked after some awkward silence. There was melted sugar glowing on his lips, and Token wanted to lick it off, possibly in a non-sexual way. "I mean, did he really need to bring that up in the fucking eulogy?"  
  
"It was part of their history together," Token said. "And Butters has forgiven him, obviously. I thought it was a great eulogy."  
  
"M-me too!" Tweek said. "I fucking cried, man!"  
  
"I noticed," Token said. He sighed. "Bebe seemed. Not good."  
  
"This is so fucking South Park," Craig said, and he seemed suddenly angry. "One of the few decent people in this pit gets killed over Cartman's bastard's dog. Run over by a fucking train. Jesus."  
  
"Don't call that kid a bastard," Token said. "It's not his fault who his parents are."  
  
"Well, he is technically a bastard, Token."  
  
"You know what?" Token hissed, leaning over the table. "It's not your job to apply the correct technical terms to things, or to people."  
  
Craig shrugged. "It's my job to make change and Greek salads," he said. "I guess being honest is just my joy."  
  
"Yeah, you seem joyful."  
  
"Guys, don't fight!" Tweek said. "Life is too fucking short, man!" He gave Craig a wary look. "Craig – gah! I don't want to lose any more friends!"  
  
Craig looked at Tweek for a long time, and Token began to feel nervous. It was a bit like Tweek was accusing Craig of driving all their friends away, which wasn't unfair. Tweek moaned anxiously and reached up to wipe the sugar from Craig's lips.  
  
"You've got – donut glaze –" Tweek said, twitching when Craig continued to stare at him impassively. Craig took Tweek's hand and licked his fingers clean. Tweek blushed, but he seemed more pleased than embarrassed, wilting toward Craig.  
  
"We should get going," Token said, beginning to tire of their company. He felt like he was trapped in a pretentious French film where unlikable characters – himself included – went from room to room of some dreary house in the country, airing out old grievances and screaming at each other between quieter, smoke-filled scenes.  
  
By the time they got to Bebe's mother's house, the street was lined with cars. Token was humiliated, because he had been brought up to be socially sensitive enough to avoid the situation he currently found himself in: first to leave, last to arrive. He knocked on the door while Craig and Tweek stood behind him. It was only three o'clock and already freezing outside, gloomy with the prospect of nighttime. The house was crowded – Token could hear it, and see through the front windows – but no one answered the door.  
  
"Just go in," Craig said irritably, and Token groaned. He tried the knob and opened the door slowly, as if anticipating a surprise party. It was quiet as he walked inside, and he felt panicked, because he didn't immediately recognize anyone, but then Bebe's mother pushed through the unfamiliar people – Kenny's relatives? – and hugged him. She was dry-eyed and smiling, seemingly glad to see him. She had never liked Kenny, according to Bebe.  
  
"You are so grown up," she said. She looked over her shoulder at Tweek and Craig in a way that made Token wonder if she recognized either of them. "Come in, boys," she said, and she put her hand out for Tweek, who didn't seem to know what to do with it. "There's food in the kitchen."  
  
Stan and Kyle were also in the kitchen, to Token's great relief. He hugged Stan, who looked miserable, and gave Kyle an awkward, one-handed wave. Kyle was eating lemon bars off a paper plate, and he waved back, his cheeks full.  
  
"I need a cigarette," Stan said when they were standing in a tight circle, Craig with his arms crossed over his chest and Tweek very obviously searching the room for the coffee pot. Token raised his eyebrows.  
  
"You smoke?" he said, surprised. Kyle groaned.  
  
"No," he said. "Stan doesn't smoke. He found a pack of cigarettes when we were helping Karen clean out Kenny's old truck, and he's smoking them in tribute. It's asinine."  
  
"That's sweet, actually," Craig said, and everyone turned to him, stunned. Craig grinned. "In a fucked up way. I mean, Kenny would approve."  
  
"Would you stop speaking for him, please?" Stan said, so sharply that Token's chest tightened in anticipation of a physical altercation.  
  
"Hey, c'mon," Kyle said, his voice low. He patted Stan's back. Stan's eyes were glued to Craig's, and Craig was doing his best impression of a statute who hadn't cared about anything since immortalization. "Let's go outside," Kyle said, pulling Stan backward. "So you can smoke."  
  
"I'm gonna go with them," Token said to Craig.  
  
"Of course you are," Craig said, avoiding his eyes. "C'mon, Tweek. I see the coffee over there."  
  
"Oh – ah, Jesus, there it is!"  
  
They slipped off, and Token was too tired to go chasing after Craig's bruised ego. He followed Stan and Kyle through the black-clad crowd, muttering hello when he passed his old classmates and keeping an eye out for Bebe or Clyde. He didn't see either of them.  
  
"Sorry," Stan said when they were outside, alone in the snow-covered backyard, Token and Kyle shivering against the sliding glass door while Stan lit a cigarette. "That guy just pisses me off." He took a drag and coughed most of it back out, looking at Token. "No offense," he said when he could speak again.  
  
"None taken," Token said. "He pisses me off, too." He felt terrible as soon as he'd said it, betraying Craig to the guy he'd always hated. "Nice service," he said, to change the subject. Kyle scoffed.  
  
"I thought it was pretty goddamn strange, actually," he said. "I should have done the eulogy, Bebe asked me, just—"  
  
"Man, whatever, Butters was awesome," Stan said. "And that song. It was so corny that it actually worked."  
  
"Karen picked that song," Kyle said. He sighed. "Okay, that eulogy, though? The superhero thing? Kenny saying he couldn't die when he was nine?"  
  
"I thought it was touching," Stan said, still testy, frowning at Kyle.  
  
"At least Butters didn't come out and say that Kenny sacrificed himself to save Cartman's kid," Kyle said, shaking his head. "I was afraid he would, for a minute there."  
  
"Well, that is why he died, Kyle," Stan said. "People should know that. Fuck Cartman if it makes him uncomfortable. Kenny was a good person." Stan's voice pinched up again, with no help from the cigarette this time. He turned away from them and puffed on it. Kyle and Token looked at each other.  
  
"Have you seen Bebe?" Token asked.  
  
"I think she's upstairs with Karen. They're upset." Kyle walked forward and wrapped an arm around Stan's waist, resting his cheek on Stan's back. Stan sniffled and reached for Kyle's other arm, pulling it around him, too.  
  
"Bebe really loved him," Token said. "They used to have sex in my old race car bed."  
  
Kyle laughed and closed his eyes. "I forgot he had that thing. I never thought about the fact that he must have brought girls there. Well. Kenny was nothing if not humble. Unless he was talking about the size of his cock."  
  
"Kyle, goddammit," Stan said, but he sounded more tired than angry. Kyle shrugged and wrapped himself around Stan more completely. Token thought he should leave them alone, but Kyle turned to him when he headed toward the door.  
  
"You're still friends with Craig and Tweek?" Kyle said.  
  
"Well," Token said, considering what his response should be. "Yeah."  
  
"And Clyde?" Kyle said. "Did you guys have some kind of fight last night?"  
  
"Dude, it's none of our business," Stan said, muttering this around Kenny's cigarette.  
  
"It wasn't a fight," Token said. "Do you guys, um. Hang out with Clyde, ever?"  
  
"Kenny and Bebe used to bring him around sometimes," Kyle said. "He's, I mean. He's one of us, right?"  
  
"Right," Token said, though concepts of 'us' were actually much more complicated than that, and always had been.  
  
"Clyde seems lonely," Stan said. "Like, when we were in college, we'd see him hanging around with Craig and Tweek, and he always seemed like the third wheel, you know, since they're together. It was the same when he hung around with Bebe and Kenny. Sometimes when Bebe was back in Boston for school he'd do stuff with Kenny, and Kenny said—" Stan turned in Kyle's arms and looked at Token. "Kenny said he was kind of fucked up."  
  
"That Clyde was?" Token asked, his heart pounding, and Stan nodded. Of course. Clyde had talked to fucking Kenny, the only person Token couldn't interview, and probably the only one who have could given him some perspective on this.  
  
"For the past year or so, anyway," Stan said. "Kenny thought Clyde needed to get the hell out of South Park, and I kind of agreed. I figured he might move away after Kenny and Bebe got married—"  
  
"They were engaged?"  
  
"No, but." Stan looked down at the cigarette, and Kyle did, too. "Kenny wanted to marry her. He told me."  
  
Stan got quiet, and he hid his face against Kyle's shoulder when Kyle hugged him closer. Token turned for the sliding glass door, too jarred to give them any parting words. They were preoccupied with each other, anyway, like always.  
  
Back inside, Token headed for the stairs, thinking Bebe might be up in her room. Butters was sitting on the bottom stair, a coloring book open across his knees, and he and Nelson were both working on it with some crayons. Cartman was leaning on the banister and watching this, drinking a martini.  
  
"Where the hell did you get that?" Token asked, nodding to the drink. Cartman looked at it and frowned.  
  
"Open bar," he said, flicking his chin toward the living room, which Token hadn't ventured into yet. "Real bartender and everything. It was in Kenny's will." He looked toward the ceiling and lifted his glass. "Seems he had some class after all."  
  
"Eric, please," Butters said. He looked up at Token and shook his head. "You trying to get upstairs?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah, but I don't want to make you move," Token said, though he did. "Your eulogy was awesome, by the way."  
  
Butters smiled. "Thanks," he said. "I was stating the obvious, I guess."  
  
"I'm sure you appreciated the jokes at my expense," Cartman said, to Token, though he was looking down at Butters, who smiled up at Cartman in an impish way that made Token uncomfortable.  
  
"I sure did," Token said. "Hey, Nelson," he said, feeling guilty for not acknowledging the boy, who was absorbed in his coloring. "What are you working on there?"  
  
"Cars," Nelson said shyly, without looking up.  
  
"That Pixar movie," Butters said. "I took him this summer."  
  
"That was nice of you," Token said, and he glanced at Cartman, still hoping for some sort of frame of reference for this situation. Cartman was oblivious, sipping from his drink and watching his son color a smiling race car bright red.  
  
"I don't suppose you've given any thought to the investment opportunity I was telling you about?" Cartman said to Token.  
  
"Investment opportunities are pretty much the furthest thing from my mind right now," Token said. "Where's Ike?"  
  
"He's around here somewhere," Cartman said, gesturing with his martini, the alcohol tilting ominously in the slanted glass. "Maybe getting high in the bathroom."  
  
"What's Ike doing in the bathroom?" Nelson asked, looking up at his father. Butters gave Cartman look of hellfire.  
  
"Being a hippie," Cartman said. He took a long drink, draining the glass, and made a satisfied sound. "I'm getting another," he announced.  
  
"Eric," Butters said, but Cartman waved him away.  
  
"Lay off," he said, heading toward the living room. "My friend died."  
  
There was something sincere in that statement that surprised Token. Butters sighed and helped Nelson into his lap, giving Token enough room to head up the stairs.  
  
"He was my friend, too," Butters said to Token, who wasn't sure if it would be appropriate to leave him or not. Nelson slumped back against Butters and looked up at him.  
  
"Mine, too," Nelson said, and Butters hugged the boy tightly. It seemed to be a private moment. Relived, Token hurried up the stairs.  
  
He was not prepared to find Clyde in the dark upstairs hallway, alone, leaning face-first against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes closed.  
  
"You okay?" Token asked, hurrying to him. Clyde startled and stepped back, but Token could only move closer when he saw Clyde's face. He looked broken and exhausted, his shoulders raised defensively.  
  
“Poor Karen,” Clyde said. “Bebe's in there with her.” He nodded to Bebe's closed bedroom door, but it was unnecessary; Token could hear Karen sobbing and saying she wanted him back. He sighed and risked squeezing Clyde's shoulder. Clyde didn't move away, but wouldn't meet his eyes.  
  
“Man, you're asleep on your feet,” Token said, softly. “Can I get you something?”  
  
Clyde shook his head slowly, and when he finally looked up at Token, it was just like old times, when Token always knew just how Clyde needed him. Token nodded and pulled Clyde to him, hugging him hard. Token needed it, too, and had to stop himself from moaning with relief when Clyde's arms circled his back.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Clyde said, his voice cracking, and he squeezed Token harder. “Last night. I was a little drunk.”  
  
“You didn't seem drunk.” Token wanted to reach up and smooth Clyde's hair down, but he knew that would be too much, and that he should be grateful even for this. Clyde pulled back but not away, letting Token's hands remain on his shoulders. Clyde felt even stronger than he had during their hockey playing days, and looked it, too, except in his eyes.  
  
“I -” Clyde said. He shook his head. “I saw you guys, at the church.”  
  
“Sequestered in the Craig Tucker section,” Token said, nodding. He felt awful again, betraying Craig to Clyde now. “He's, um. He says he's going bald.”  
  
Clyde rolled his eyes, and his hands slid from Token's hips, arms dangling at his sides. Inside Bebe's bedroom, Karen had quieted somewhat, maybe just physically incapable of crying any more.  
  
“Apparently Kenny had a will,” Token said, growing uncomfortable with the way Clyde was studying him, and afraid that he was working up the nerve to ask Token if Craig and Tweek had spent the night at his house last night, and in what fashion. “And apparently it provided for an open bar at his funeral reception.”  
  
“Sounds like Kenny,” Clyde said. “Weird that he had a will, though. I mean, he was so young, and, uh. Not wealthy.”  
  
“Yeah,” Token said. “I don't have one.”  
  
“Me either,” Clyde said.  
  
“Well.” Token looked down at Clyde's tie, wanting to straighten it for him. “You're immortal, so.”  
  
Clyde snorted. “I am?”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“Oh, right,” Clyde said, and he gave Token that old lop-sided grin that he used to offer him while he leaned by his locker, thumbs hooked around the straps of his book bag. “I guess I did get bit by a vampire, like. Eight hundred times.”  
  
He was talking about Craig, and Token didn't know how to respond. He could see annoyance surfacing in Clyde's eyes when Token didn't take up the joke and laugh the way they used to, when they made jokes about Craig back in high school, saying he might be a real vampire, only he couldn't be, because he was constantly admiring himself in every available reflective surface.  
  
“Dude,” Token said, so quietly that Clyde leaned forward to hear it, maybe involuntarily, their foreheads almost touching. “He's fucked up about everything that happened, too. Trust me.”  
  
Clyde frowned, and Token was relieved to hear footsteps on the stairs, sorry that he'd said that. He wanted to explain that Clyde was wrong about Craig's indifference without dismissing his pain, which was impossible. They moved away from each other, and Token's relief faded when he saw Kenny's mother reaching the top stair, looking fairly wasted.  
  
“Is Karen in there?” she asked, swaying a little and pointing to Bebe's bedroom. She was wearing a black dress and a ratty, over-sized navy sweater that hung open, housecoat-like. There was something stuck in her bangs – a crumb?  
  
“Yeah, she's in there,” Clyde said, and he opened the door like a valet. Mrs. McCormick hurried inside, and Token heard Karen's crying resume when she saw her mother. Bebe slipped out, wiping at her raw eyes and cheeks. Token and Clyde moved to hug her at the same time, and they ended up doing it together, resting their chins on her shoulders while she clung to them, Token's arm sliding across Clyde's shoulders. Clyde took a handful of the back of Token's jacket and held it in his fist.  
  
“Let's go sit in my parents' room,” Bebe said. Her voice was raw, too. “I need to be away from everyone for a minute.” She closed her eyes. “Or forever.”  
  
Bebe's parents' room was neat and high-ceilinged, and she didn't put any lights on, though it was getting dark outside, the streetlights already on and glowing through the window. They sat on the bed, just as they had the night before, Bebe in the middle, all of them staring at the window.  
  
“You know,” Bebe said. “It's a terrible tradition. Going to the cemetery to watch the casket get lowered into the ground. It's awful. Fucking. Opposite of closure.”  
  
“You should eat something,” Clyde said, rubbing her back. “What can I get you?”  
  
“Oh, um.” She frowned and turned to look at Clyde's lap. “Just crackers or something. I keep throwing up.”  
  
“Throwing up?” Token said He felt hollowed out from wishing that he had something to give her, any recaptured fragment of what she'd lost.  
  
Bebe looked at Token and nodded. She turned to Clyde and patted his thigh. “I'm going to tell him,” she said.  
  
“Alright,” Clyde said. He met Token's eyes over her head. “Um, I'll get the crackers. You sure that's all you can keep down?”  
  
“For now,” Bebe said, and Clyde left. He shut the door behind him and Bebe lifted her eyes to Token's. He could see that she knew he'd already guessed what she would say.  
  
“Yeah,” she said. “Pregnant.”  
  
“How?” Token blurted, and she actually laughed.  
  
“Remember fourth grade?” she said. “Sex ed?”  
  
“Well – fuck, weren't you—”  
  
“I take this shot three times a year that's supposed to keep me from getting pregnant,” Bebe said. “It's worked for the past four years! We found out a week before Kenny died.” She closed her eyes and swallowed heavily; it sounded painful. “He was actually excited. The idiot. He wanted me to have it, jobless in South Park while he's taking care of his whole family with his goddamn Hobby Lobby salary, and neither of us has health insurance—”  
  
“No health insurance?” Token said, disturbed by the fact that she'd slipped back into talking about Kenny in the present tense. “Aren't you still on your parents' plan?”  
  
“No,” Bebe said. She groaned and opened her eyes. “It didn't cover this shot thing, and I really wanted the shot so I wouldn't have to mess with pills or condoms, so I had them drop me freshman year and I got a cheap plan through the school. They'd been meaning to add me again since I graduated, though to be honest they can't really afford it anymore, but they dragged their feet, and I got myself knocked up by my dead boyfriend, so now, Token? I think I have to marry Clyde.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“If I do it within the week they won't be able to prove that my pregnancy was a preexisting condition,” she said, sniffling and wiping at her eyes. “But my window's closing fast, and I don't want to ruin his life, it was Clyde's idea but he needs something – someone real, Token, he's so lonely, and I just, but I can't kill Kenny's baby, not now, and I won't raise it in poverty – oh, _fuck_ , that hurts.” She winced, and he realized that she was referring to the fresh tears stinging the sore places around her eyes. He cupped her face and drew her to him, kissing her forehead. He'd barely had a chance to really let himself understand any of that before Clyde returned with crackers and a beer. Insanely, Token found himself wanting to ask Clyde if he'd seen Craig or Tweek downstairs. He was aware that he'd done exactly what Craig feared he would, but there were larger things at stake here than Craig's feelings.  
  
“I've told him the plan,” Bebe said, back to looking more empty than distressed. She accepted the crackers from Clyde. “Though it's not a plan, really. We can't.”  
  
“Why not?” Clyde asked. He glanced at Token as if to make sure they were talking about the same thing, and by the bereft expression on Token's face he seemed to understand that they were. “It wouldn't hurt anyone. It's not like I've got some other fiancée I'd have to jilt, and we could get divorced after you get a job and your own insurance.”  
  
“How am I going to have a job?” Bebe asked. “Who will take care of the baby? My mother? She hated Kenny! Oh, God, it's a nightmare, all I can do is sit here waiting to wake up.”  
  
Clyde sighed and drank from the beer before offering the bottle to Token. Touched, he accepted, and in the midst of this chaos got a small thrill from wrapping his lips around the same object that had just been encircled by Clyde's.  
  
“I think it's mad,” Token said. “If you need money—”  
  
“No,” Bebe said firmly.  
  
“Why not?” Token asked. “My father was always very fond of you.” His mother, not so much, but never mind.  
  
“I am not taking a loan from your father to pay for my love child,” Bebe said. She was giving him a look of unchecked fury that came from a privileged place: don't fuck with someone who's got little to lose.  
  
“Really, Token,” Clyde said, scoffing.  
  
“How's that any crazier than you marrying Clyde to get his insurance to pay for things?” Token asked. He was beginning to get loud, and reminding himself of his father for the second time since coming home.  
  
“We're already here, together,” Clyde said. He blanched when he heard himself. “Not together, not like that, but Bebe's been staying with me a lot since Kenny died, and it just – it makes sense, Token. You wouldn't understand.”  
  
“Wouldn't I?” Token asked, loud again. Something shifted in Clyde's eyes, and if they were still in high school Token would have categorized it as attraction. Whatever it was, it was quickly gone, replaced by anger.  
  
“You can't just come home for one weekend and start handing out money to fix what's gone wrong here,” Clyde said. In contrast to Token, he was speaking softly, though not kindly, and it was as effective as a threat.  
  
“Don't be so harsh,” Bebe said, and she put her hand out, waving a cracker at Clyde. “He's only trying to help.”  
  
“Kenny didn't have any life insurance?” Token asked, scrambling. Bebe could not marry Clyde. He wasn't sure why, except that Bebe could not _have_ Clyde. Not even a little of him; Token had made the mistake of letting someone who didn't love Clyde as well as he did lay claim to him before. He wouldn't stand by and watch it happen again.  
  
“Life insurance?” Bebe scoffed. “He was part time at Hobby Lobby. Stocking shelves.”  
  
“Well, fuck, I don't know!”  
  
“That's right, you don't,” Bebe said. “Clyde has a point, Token. I've been back for less than a year, but it's different when you're here. South Park – it makes you – we can take care of each other, is all I mean to say.”  
  
“That's funny,” Token said, standing. “'Cause from where I'm standing it doesn't look that way.”  
  
“What the hell does that mean?” Clyde asked, no longer offering beer.  
  
“Seems like things are just like they were when I left,” Token said. He felt something welling up in him that made him newly sympathetic to Craig: he had his tongue rolled up around something terrible, and he had to say it, because it was too true to hold in. “Stan and Kyle are taking care of each other, maybe, but the rest of you are in shambles.”  
  
“How can you say that to her?” Clyde asked, grabbing the front of Token's shirt. “After everything she's been through today, you're going to stand here and tell her she's in shambles?”  
  
“Well, I am in them,” Bebe said dryly. She cast around for a ratty tissue that she'd dropped on the bed and blew her nose into it. “Clyde, let go of him. I think he's mostly referring to Eric and Craig, anyway. Aren't you, Token?”  
  
“Of course,” Token said, but his eyes were locked on Clyde, and he knew Clyde was looking straight into him, understanding who he was really talking about, and that it wasn't Bebe. Clyde huffed and released Token's shirt when someone opened the bedroom door.  
  
"Sweetheart?" Bebe's mother said, poking her head inside. Token locked eyes with Clyde again, asking him if Bebe's mother yet knew about the pregnancy, and Clyde shook his head. Token couldn't remember the last time he'd been telepathic with anyone, and it warmed the cold thing that was sitting at the center of his stomach, the invitation he wouldn't receive to a shotgun wedding.  
  
"I'm fine," Bebe said to no one in particular. Token hadn't eaten anything all day, so maybe he was drunk off of one sip of Clyde's beer. He felt like she was talking to Kenny. Bebe's mother gave Clyde and Token an apologetic look, and they both interpreted it the same way. They nodded, muttered goodbyes to Bebe, and left.  
  
Downstairs, the reception was mostly cleared out. Token went to the refreshment table and dug a rock hard pita chip into some hummus. Clyde stood at his side and did the same. When Token reached for the beer, Clyde let him have it.  
  
"Sorry," Token said.  
  
"No, you're right," Clyde said, his mouth full. "I'm fucking waist deep in rubble. Just don't throw it in her face."  
  
"I didn't mean to."  
  
"Don't be like him," Clyde said, and they looked at each other, both chewing pita chips. The noise of them was so loud between Token's teeth that he felt like he was in a compactor. He searched the room for Craig, knowing he wouldn't find him.  
  
"I think I need a real meal," Token said. "Protein. You want to come?"  
  
"Okay." Clyde smiled. It was just like it was when they were kids, when everyone else felt sharp and Clyde was a bed Token wanted to fall into. He would do it in little intervals, but then an alarm would blare and he'd have to rise and return to the real world.  
  
Clyde went to get his jacket, and Token found Butters near the front door, buttoning up Nelson's coat. Cartman was leaning against the wall, blinking heavily and looking like he was close to passing out.  
  
"I'm guessing you're the designated driver?" Token said to Butters, who scoffed.  
  
"That's my middle name," he said, but he didn't sound resentful. Nelson had his Cars coloring book tucked under his arm, his box of crayons in his hand. He looked up at Token warily, and Token realized how he must look to most of these people, even the ones he'd known from childhood: like a stranger.  
  
"Did Craig go?" Token asked. "I drove him and Tweek, but I can't find them-"  
  
"They got a ride home with Wendy," Butters said. He picked Nelson up with an _oomph_ and hugged him to his chest.  
  
"Wendy," Cartman muttered, as if he was having some private conversation with himself. Butters rolled his eyes.  
  
"Will you be here tomorrow?" he asked Token. "For Thanksgiving?"  
  
"Shit, that's tomorrow?" That couldn't be right, but it was. "Ah, no, my parents are out of town. I'm going back to Boston."  
  
"Oh, sad!" Butters said. "Well, it was good to see you. Say goodbye to Token," Butters said to Nelson, who looked up sleepily, the pages of the coloring book wrinkling between his chest and Butters'.  
  
"Bye," he said, softly, and Token was fucked up enough about a variety of things to feel like he might cry, but he didn't. He smiled and waved as Butters collected Cartman and headed out the door.  
  
"Token, call me!" Cartman shouted back over his shoulder. "'Bout the robe – robots. S'good, you'll see."  
  
When they were gone, Token turned to see if Clyde was back yet, but he wasn't. He checked his phone and experienced a queasy combination of dread and relief when he saw a new message from Craig. He opened it, and wasn't surprised to see a quote from Dr. Ian Malcolm. He was Craig's childhood idol.  
  
 _boy do I hate being right all the time_  
  
 _Yeah?_ Token sent back, _Okay, but if you're always right, you must know I'm still in love with him. I'm sorry I ditched you, but I'm not ready to burn any bridges here._  
  
Token checked over his shoulder and saw Clyde at the top of the landing. His phone beeped, and he hurried to open the new message.  
  
 _the problem with south park is that it's too small to need bridges. If you want to get rid of something you have to torch the motherfucker wholesale_  
  
Token typed a response, hearing Clyde's footsteps, wishing he could care about one of them and not the other.  
  
 _Town's not on fire_ , he sent, because he didn't have enough time to add that he took this as a good sign for Craig, and all of them. He was feeling optimistic.  
  
"Ready?" Clyde said.  
  
"Yep," Token said, hiding his phone in the sleeve of his coat. "Where do you want to go?"  
  
"Bennigan's," Clyde said. "Duh."  
  
"American fare, Irish hospitality," Token said. He'd loved Bennigan's in high school, because his parents dismissed it as cow feed for undiscerning hicks, and because it was where he went on Mondays after school with Clyde almost every week during their senior year. It was stress relief for both of them, free Pepsi refills and potato skins loaded with greasy cheddar cheese. Like the superhero game, it was a secret from Craig for as long as they could keep it. By New Year's Eve – that night – he'd found out.  
  
Token held the door for Clyde, and he slipped his phone out from his sleeve as he followed him down the front steps, trying to read Craig's response to his last message. It wasn't hard, only two words:  
  
 _not yet_


	5. Chapter 5

Token woke up at three o'clock in the morning on the day after Thanksgiving, his head aching. He'd had too much wine before, during, and after dinner, but it was the kind of hangover that felt well-earned, indulgence that he didn't regret. He was in the guest bedroom at Clyde's parents' house, waiting for the alarm to go off. The night before, he'd drunkenly offered to go to day after Thanksgiving door busters with Clyde, who had also been drunk. Token couldn't get back to sleep, so he just lay there waiting to see if Clyde would appear to collect him for shopping or not. It was ridiculous, the idea that Token had or would ever need to so drastically chase down bargains, but last night he'd said some stupid shit about how he'd always wanted to do it, because it seemed exotic to him, like buying pants from K-Mart once had. He would have agreed to go cow tipping at the crack of dawn if Clyde had asked, and not just because he was drunk. He wanted to stay with Clyde for as long as possible. He'd already moved his flight twice: once after their dinner at Bennigan's and again last night, after maybe half a bottle of wine and half a tray of pastry-wrapped sausage ball appetizers. Clyde had eaten the other half.  
  
The door creaked open ten minutes before Token's alarm was scheduled to go off. He sat up, hoping Clyde wouldn't be annoyed that he was still in bed, wearing only the sweatpants and t-shirt Clyde had loaned him after they'd nearly fallen asleep on Clyde's bedroom floor, Clyde giggling drunkenly at some inane stories Token was telling about his colleagues in Boston. Token was relieved to see that Clyde wasn't dressed, either. Clyde closed the door behind him and walked over to the bed in his thermal shirt and flannel pants, his hair all messed up and his eyes puffy.   
  
“I am so fucking ill,” Clyde said.   
  
“Me too,” Token said. “Here.” He picked up a glass of water that he must have procured at some point before passing out last night, well after midnight. “Drink some, it helps.”  
  
“Like I've never been hungover before,” Clyde said. He smirked. “I already went down to the kitchen and chugged Gatorade. I'm good. Um, my head's pounding, though. Do you still want to go shopping?”  
  
“Maybe,” Token said, only for the excuse to spend the morning together. “Just—”  
  
“Can I get in with you for a minute?” Clyde asked. He was pulling on the bottom of his shirt like a kid who didn't want to admit that he needed to pee. Token moved aside and held up the blankets.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “C'mon.”   
  
Clyde got into the bed without looking at him and scooted close. Token arranged the blankets over him, using this as an excuse to hug his arm around Clyde's shoulders. Clyde closed his eyes and moaned. He touched Token's chest under the blankets, and slowly, as if he thought he was doing so undetected, worked his arm around Token's side and across his back, snuggling against his chest in the process.   
  
“Sorry,” Clyde muttered into his shirt.  
  
“For what?” Token buried his face in Clyde's hair, which smelled like shampoo and gravy. “This is the best hangover cure. I remember.”  
  
Clyde laughed a little, his arm tightening around Token's back. They'd been working their way up to this since Bennigan's, trying to make their touches seem incidental. They hadn't talked about Craig, and Token hadn't heard from again. He hadn't tried to call Craig, afraid to jinx this peace. It was possible that Craig thought he'd left town already, though Token got the feeling Craig knew he hadn't.   
  
“It is the best cure, yeah,” Clyde said. “Better than greasy diner food. Better than fucking coffee, that's for sure.”   
  
When they were in high school, after those particularly hedonistic nights that Craig had drawn them into without much effort, Clyde and Token were the ones who always woke up sick. Tweek had some kind of magically regenerating liver, and if Craig had ever felt sick after drinking too much he'd been too determined to seem impenetrable to let them know. Token had always been vocal about his hangovers so that Clyde would have an excuse to crawl over to him and moan sympathetically. Sometimes they'd stayed in bed, wrapped around each other, while Craig stormed out with Tweek, calling them lightweights and accusing them of wasting their weekend. Token would tell him to fuck off while Clyde pretended to sleep. When Craig was gone, Clyde would rub his face against Token's neck, and Token would get so hard. Back then he'd thought it had something to do with winning, like he'd just fought a battle with Craig for his share of the spoils of the war that was always raging.   
  
“It was my favorite part,” Clyde said after they'd both lay there for a while, thinking about those Saturday afternoons when they had shifted against each other until they were sleeping so deeply, sweating under their t-shirts.  
  
“Don't try to tell me you weren't in love with him,” Token said. He didn't want to ruin the moment, but he was tired of dancing around the subject of Craig.   
  
“I thought I was,” Clyde said. “I was just a dumb kid. I was wrong about everything.”   
  
“Then you were wrong about this, too,” Token said, trying to extract himself. Clyde moaned and held on.   
  
“Craig was like this mold we all got poured into,” he said. “Now I'm just – shaped like this. Look, um. I know you're gonna leave. Maybe you'll come back for my wedding, maybe not. Just let me have this for two seconds. Two seconds,” he muttered, pressing his face to Token's neck more snugly.   
  
“Your wedding,” Token said.  
  
“To Bebe.”  
  
“Yeah, I'd. She's going through with that?”   
  
“I hope so. It's my only chance to have a real family.”   
  
“Clyde.” Token scooted down and made Clyde look at him. He'd forgotten what it was like to have Clyde so close, their legs pushed together under a pile of blankets. It felt like Token's only chance to have a real family.   
  
“What?” Clyde said. “I want kids, and I want, you know, a wife. But I'm messed up, so. I'm never gonna want to sleep with her. Bebe's okay with that. She said she's never gonna want anybody again if she can't have Kenny.”   
  
“Two weeks after his death, she says that. She's gonna change her mind someday.”   
  
“Maybe, but what – I mean, she could, it'd be okay.” Clyde was shaking; Token rubbed his back. “I don't see what else I could do.”  
  
“You could move to Boston with me,” Token said. Clyde laughed.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “Right, okay. You haven't even kissed me.”  
  
“I didn't think you'd let me.”   
  
“I won't,” Clyde said, but when Token leaned into it, Clyde did, too.   
  
Token's first conscious thought was that it felt like it hadn't been almost five years since he'd done this. Clyde tasted like he always had after waking up, before brushing his teeth. It wasn't when they'd most often kissed, but Token remembered the few times they had. They'd rarely woken up first, and when they did Craig was usually still on the other side of the bed, Tweek curled up at Token's side or around Clyde's back. Clyde and Token would blink at each other and kiss as quietly as they could.   
  
“Wait,” Token said when Clyde's hand slid up under his t-shirt, across his back. Clyde pulled away, and Token kissed him again before he could get the rest out, because Clyde's lips were so fat, dark pink. “Don't do this if you think it's – wrong, if you think it's part of, um. However we hurt you, back then.”   
  
“We?” Clyde stared at him, blinked. “No. No, you didn't—”  
  
“But Craig did, you said, and I don't want to be part of what you think of as your, fuck, I don't know. Your problems. Because this isn't a problem for me. This is just what I fucking – want, and—”  
  
“If it's what you want, why did you run away from it?” Clyde asked. He was quickly angry, sitting up, and Token was sorry he'd said anything.   
  
“It was college, Clyde,” Token said, getting angry himself. “It was my future. If you were so – whatever – why the fuck did you move in with Craig and Tweek? Why did you _stay_?”  
  
Clyde tried to get out of the bed, but Token wouldn't let him. Grunting, somewhat out of his mind with lack of sleep, the bad hangover, and the frustration that he'd tried to laugh off ever since Craig instated his reign over the three of them, he grabbed Clyde's shoulders and pinned him to the bed.   
  
“This is why you stayed,” Token said, holding him down. Clyde wasn't struggling. He was gaping at Token, stunned. “Because I wasn't willing to do this, then. And he was.”   
  
“No,” Clyde said. He was breaking up a little, just in his voice. “No, he never held me down. I wanted him to. I wanted you to. I wanted someone to still want me around.”   
  
“I told you I loved you,” Token said.   
  
“But you fucked him,” Clyde said, starting to cry. “You fucked him.”   
  
“That's right.” Token was lowering his face to Clyde's, surprised to find that talking about this was making him feel powerful, in control, when he'd thought it would strip him of everything. “I fucked him, and what else was it going to be, that night, with two other people watching? I didn't want it to be just a fuck, if I had you.”  
  
“You could have taken me upstairs!”  
  
“No,” Token said, shaking his head slowly. “It was too late.”   
  
“Too late?”  
  
“Too late not to make it about them, too. I wanted. If we ever, you and me. I wanted—”  
  
“It's too late for that,” Clyde said. He tried to regain his composure and mostly failed, shivering in Token's grip, blinking rapidly. “That's what I tried to tell you the other night. He wrecked us.”  
  
“By making us want each other?” Token asked, his sense of control quickly slipping away. He'd thought that the past two days of not talking about Craig had been building toward something, but it was only this: the eventual big talk about Craig, complete with tears. They were both hard, which was humiliating.   
  
“I don't know,” Clyde said. “I did think, for a long time, that he was the one I wanted. But then you kissed me.”   
  
Token leaned down to kiss him in response, not sure that it was the right thing to do. Clyde seemed to be up for it, his arms winding around Token's neck, one leg hooking around the back of Token's thigh under the blankets. He didn't want to be held down; he wanted to be carried. Token thought about telling him that, but Clyde was bucking his hips, gasping, and it didn't seem like the right time.   
  
“It's been so long,” Clyde said after they'd both come in their pants. “So long.” He was delirious, still breathing hard, boneless in Token's arms. Fighting to keep his eyes open. Token wanted to ask him if he meant it had been so long since they'd gotten each other off, or since he'd gotten off with anyone, but he didn't, because he knew that 'anyone' would have been Craig.   
  
“Go to sleep if you want to,” Token said. “I don't really care about shopping.” His alarm started blaring, as if to try to prove otherwise. Clyde grinned when Token leaned over him to turn it off.   
  
“No, I want to go,” Clyde said. “Bebe needs a new DVD player.”   
  
By the time they were dressed and heading toward Token's car, Token had no idea what was going on. They had kissed, talked, even dry-humped each other to orgasm like kids, like old times, but Clyde was getting in the car at six o'clock in the morning, hungover and still smelling like sleep and come, off to buy Bebe a DVD player. The Harbucks drive thru was crowded, but Token stopped there anyway, needing something – drugs, in any form, a chemical supplement for his lack of understanding.   
  
“You want anything?” Token asked when they were next in line to order.   
  
“One of those things with whipped cream and caramel,” Clyde said. He seemed cheerful. He'd been eating a lot in the past few days, between Bennigan's and Thanksgiving dinner, and he looked a little softer than he had when Token walked into Stan and Kyle's apartment and saw him on the couch. Token had been eating a lot, too, wanting to keep up, or support Clyde, or maybe he was just hungry.   
  
They took their coffees into Best Buy, which was slammed. Employees were wearing Santa hats, and this more than anything put Token in a bad mood. Also, the whole concept of buying a movie on DVD – who rewatched the same movies often enough to need to own them? Token's family didn't believe in collecting things, except antiques, but those were one of a kind and often functional. The hicks in line to buy electronics started to annoy him intensely, and the guy who was trying to get Clyde to buy a Blu Ray DVD player needed to be hit in the face, hard. He had cartilage piercings and bleached hair, and a cigarettey voice that made him sound older than he looked.   
  
“Did Bebe want Blu Ray?” Token asked, butting in to the guy's high volume sales pitch.   
  
“I don't know.” Clyde scratched his head. “But it's better. Right?” He looked to the sales guy for confirmation. Token had to walk away, pretending to examine some flat screen TVs. Of course Blu Ray was better – Blu Ray was what Token had, at his parents' house and his apartment in Boston. The fact that Clyde needed confirmation of that, of everything, ten thousand times over, from anyone who would give it, made Token want to put his fist through a plasma screen.   
  
Clyde bought the Blu Ray player and they headed to the mall, which was massively crowded. Parking alone took twenty minutes, and they were both quiet while Token looked for a space, tense, as if the unavailability of parking was some sort of reflection on the two of them and the fact that they were doomed to failure. Token parked between two pick up trucks on the lawn near the road, and getting out of the car took some side-stepping.   
  
“Shouldn't we put the DVD player in the trunk?” Token asked when Clyde left the bag sitting on the back seat, big yellow letters blaring the words BEST BUY.   
  
“How come?” Clyde asked.   
  
“'Cause, you know. Someone might steal it.”  
  
“How're they gonna steal it? Just lock the car.”  
  
“Clyde – they could break the window.”   
  
“Oh.” Clyde was blushing as he scrambled to get the player, and Token felt like an asshole for trying to pretend that big city common sense applied at the Park County Mall. It wasn't as if South Park was entirely free of property crime. And if he had to explain to his parents that the window of the Lexus was busted while he had it parked at the mall for post-Thanksgiving doorbusters, they would give him such _looks_. He could picture it clearly.   
  
The mall was swarming. Token could think of no other appropriate term for the sluggish hordes moving in and out of stores, and the term got stuck in his head like a persistent buzzing. They had to shout to hear each other, and there was nothing much to say, anyway – Clyde was fretting over what to get for his father for Christmas, and Token couldn't offer any suggestions. He didn't exchange presents with his family at Christmas or on any other holiday. On his birthday, they usually sent him a card congratulating him on being a son they could be proud of – which was to say, one who made good money and supported himself without their help. There was always the implication that he had better keep it up, not because they wouldn't support him if he ever fell on hard times, but because it would be embarrassing for everyone involved.  
  
They ran into Stan and Kyle at a men's clothing store where Clyde hoped to find a sweater for his father. Kyle's arms were loaded with discounted shirts and pants that he seemed to have mostly fished out of the bargain bins that people were digging through up front. Stan was carrying a couple of big shopping bags and looking half-asleep.   
  
“Hey!” Clyde said, waving to them before Token could suggest that maybe they should go to another store, because it was really too early for social niceties, and Kyle looked sort of busy. Stan waved back.   
  
“Buying a new wardrobe?” Token said to Kyle when he looked up from one of the bins, adding a wrinkled white shirt with horizontal blue stripes to his collection.   
  
“Yes,” Kyle said. “For Stan. We do this once a year, after Thanksgiving. He's really hard on clothes.” Kyle stared at Token as if daring him to laugh.   
  
“I get these holes around the collars of my shirts,” Stan said, either in defense of Kyle or himself.   
  
“Wait,” Kyle said. He frowned at Token. “Why are you here? I thought you left.”   
  
“Not yet,” Token said.  
  
“Tomorrow,” Clyde said, and it was like the sound in the store was slightly muted to allow for the awkwardness between the four of them.   
  
“Who are you guys shopping for?” Stan asked.   
  
“Just family and stuff,” Clyde said, and Token was wounded by the fact that he might be including Bebe in 'family' rather than 'stuff.' “You know, for Christmas.”   
  
“I've already done our holiday shopping,” Kyle said. “That's Labor Day. We go to the outlets.”  
  
“Congratulations,” Token said, annoyed.   
  
“How's Bebe doing?” Stan asked Clyde.   
  
“The same,” Clyde said. “I called her yesterday. Her parents had Karen and Carol over for Thanksgiving. I guess it was really grim. I probably – I should have gone over there.”   
  
“He bought her a DVD player,” Token said, stupidly. “Blu Ray.”   
  
“Who did?” Kyle asked, frowning.  
  
“Me.” Clyde gave Token a look of confusion, or irritation. “I did.”   
  
“That was nice of you,” Stan said. “Let us know if we can help with – anything.”   
  
“Who'd you have Thanksgiving with?” Kyle asked Token, who felt it was a dumb question.   
  
“Clyde's family,” he said. “It was really nice.”   
  
“Oh, I was picturing you with Craig and Tweek,” Kyle said. “With a turkey stuffed with coffee beans or whatever.”  
  
“Craig would never stuff a turkey,” Clyde said, somewhat angrily. Stan and Kyle stared at him. Token took Clyde's elbow.  
  
“We should get going,” Token said. “Lots of shopping to do.”  
  
“You just walked in here,” Stan said.   
  
“Honey,” Kyle said. He dumped the entire load of clothing he'd collected into Stan's arms. “Come on. Let's find a dressing room.”   
  
“When will you be back in South Park?” Stan asked Token as Kyle began to lead him away.   
  
“No clue,” Token said. “It was good seeing you guys, though. Despite, you know. The circumstances.”   
  
“Yes, truly,” Kyle said, waving. “Clyde, we'll see you later. Say hello to Bebe for us.”  
  
“Okay,” Clyde said. Token pulled him out of the store while Kyle dragged Stan to the dressing rooms. “What about the sweater?” Clyde asked.  
  
“We'll look somewhere else,” Token said. “I just can't handle those two sometimes.”  
  
“Why?” Clyde asked. He wiggled his arm out of Token's grip. “They're nice. Well, Stan is.”   
  
“What was that shit about a coffee bean turkey or whatever?” Token asked, shouldering his way past a slow moving lady in cranberry colored sweats. “He's such a smart ass.”  
  
“I thought it was kind of funny,” Clyde said. Token was quiet for a while, wanting to shove people out of the way as they made their way toward nothing in particular. “Are you – does it _bother_ you that I bought Bebe a DVD player?” Clyde asked as they walked past the pretzel stand. Token scoffed.  
  
“Why would it bother me? I just – that sales guy at Best Buy. He put me in a bad mood.”   
  
“How come?”  
  
“'Cause – his earrings. I don't know. His hair. I guess I'm just not a morning person, sorry.”   
  
“Me either,” Clyde said, and Token thought again of those mornings in high school, the simple comfort of lying there with Clyde after the other two had left in search of coffee.   
  
“I don't know what I'm doing here,” Token said as they came to a stop in front of a Brookstone that was overrun with people and sales reps.   
  
“Want to leave?” Clyde asked.  
  
“No, go ahead,” Token said. “Shop.”   
  
Clyde did, and everything he picked out teetered between irritating and endearing. The sweater for his father, a jewelry box for his sister, some earrings for Bebe. She would hate them, Token knew, but he didn't say anything, because she would pretend to love them, and it was more important that Clyde got to feel like he'd done something right. She would wear them, sometimes, anyway, for Clyde's sake. Dismally, Token realized that Bebe and Clyde were actually well suited, or would be, if Clyde wasn't gay and Bebe wasn't in love with a dead guy.   
  
“What do you want for Christmas?” Clyde asked, as if he was going to buy it right then.   
  
“I want,” Token said, and he hesitated, because he was about to say something dark and depressing, and he wasn't this guy, really. Up north, he was easygoing and satisfied, glad to get those birthday cards that renewed his certainty that his parents were proud of him. “I want a time machine,” Token said.   
  
“Oh, Jesus,” Clyde said, and he laughed like that wasn't dark at all. “Me too.”   
  
“If they made one, you'd probably give it to Bebe,” Token said. “For Kenny. Right?”  
  
“Well, yeah,” Clyde said. He picked up a fat candle and turned it over to see the price. “But the point is, I want one for me. That's what you asked.”   
  
“That's what _you_ asked.”   
  
“Oh, right. You know what I mean, though.”   
  
Clyde decided to buy the candle for his grandmother, despite the fact that it cost twenty-four dollars. They waited in line, and Token groaned when he saw Butters come through the store's front entrance.   
  
“Don't look now,” he muttered, elbowing Clyde, who looked.   
  
“Oh, Butters,” Clyde said. “You don't want to talk to him?”  
  
“Too late,” Token said. “He's spotted us.”   
  
Butters headed toward them, wearing a bright red cable sweater and an enormous grin, as if he was about to tell them that he'd just won the lottery.   
  
“Look what I got for Eric's mom,” he said, setting one of his shopping bags down. He reached into it and pulled out a cat figurine. “Doesn't it look just like their old cat? Mr. Kitty?”  
  
“Yeah,” Clyde said, and he actually sounded impressed. Token had to withhold a sound that might have been a snort or a laugh; it felt mean on its way up. He smiled tightly when Butters turned his gaze on him, still holding the cat on his palm. It had a collar painted around its neck, with a heart pendant.   
  
“Token, you're still here!” he said.   
  
“Not for long,” Token said, and then he felt terrible, though still ready to bolt. Being surrounded by profound grief, booze, and Craig's enthusiastic gloom for the first three days had made it easy to forget what South Park was really like, deep down, between the gritty tiles in the public restrooms. There were guys who were trying to look punk while wearing their Best Buy shirts tucked into wrinkled khakis, and people like Butters doing the Christmas shopping for their emotionally abusive quasi-boyfriends, and Stan and Kyle popping out of the occasional corner to make everyone else feel like shit for not being euphorically happy to be here.  
  
“And this is for Nelson,” Butters said, lifting a miniature train car out of another bag. “We're working on getting him the whole set.”   
  
“We?” Token said, and he could feel Clyde's shock, because that had been cruel.   
  
“Me and Eric,” Butters said, growing sheepish. He knelt down to re-wrap the train car in festive tissue paper.   
  
“Nelson's so cute,” Clyde said. “He's a sweet kid. Cartman's lucky to have your help.”  
  
“I just love kids,” Butters said, and he was blushing when he stood.   
  
“Me too,” Clyde said.  
  
They left the mall an hour later, and Token helped Clyde carry his bags. Clyde had gone quiet, and Token didn't want to break the silence himself, afraid that he would say something awful. He was beginning to feel like Craig, or to understand, maybe, why Craig was the way he was. It wasn't Clyde's fault, or Tweek's fault; it was just a function of being in South Park and not being impressed by cat figurines.   
  
“So that's it,” Clyde said, and Token looked over at him, startled. They were in the car, headed back to Clyde's house. “Got all my shopping done. Except for yours.”  
  
“Mine? You don't have to get me a present.”   
  
“I want to,” Clyde said. “But I can never think of anything. What do you get for the man who has everything?” He grinned at Token like that was some kind of joke, and Token smiled back.   
  
“In high school you would buy me Christmas ornaments,” he said.  
  
“I know,” Clyde said. “I remember.”  
  
Token's family always had a professionally decorated tree with a tastefully articulated theme. He would hang Clyde's ornaments from his desk lamp, which had a long adjustable arm. All year long they lived there, because they were never particularly Christmas-y – a sequined bird, a stained glass cross, a Broncos logo with a wreath around it, and a little squirrel carved out of wood. That was the one Clyde gave him a few weeks before the New Year's Eve incident, senior year. Token had all four of the ornaments in his apartment in Boston, in a drawer somewhere.   
  
“Got a message?” Token asked when Clyde started messing with his phone.   
  
“From Bebe,” Clyde said. “I'm gonna have dinner with her and Karen tonight. Wanna come?”  
  
“I don't want to intrude,” Token said, and it was true, for his own sake.   
  
“You wouldn't be intruding.” Clyde touched Token's thigh. “It's your last night in town.”   
  
“I wish--” Token said, but he stopped there. He wasn't going to beg Clyde to come to Boston with him. Clyde would probably hate it, anyway. He didn't have city manners and he never would; people would hurt his feelings. He'd gotten enough of that in South Park, during the Craig years.   
  
“I know,” Clyde said, and Token realized that he'd been staring. They were stopped at a red light near the old arcade, which had closed even before Token left for college. The windows were boarded up, and there was malicious-looking graffiti on the front door, some kind of creature with sharp teeth and a pitch fork, not quite the devil.   
  
“I bet you know me better than anyone, still,” Token said.  
  
“Craig would say that he knows you better.”   
  
“Why does everything have to be about Craig?” Token asked. Clyde rolled his eyes and took his hand off Token's leg.   
  
“Are you coming to dinner or not?” he asked.  
  
“No,” Token said. “But I want to see you afterward.”   
  
“Oh.” Clyde looked out the passenger side window, his hands in his lap. Someone behind Token honked, and he saw that the light had turned green. “You mean,” Clyde said, fidgeting. “For sex?”  
  
“God,” Token said. “I don't know. What happened this morning? What was that?”  
  
“Old habits die hard,” Clyde said, and Token remembered that Clyde was actually not so different from Craig, always capable of saying something true that would devastate him. Clyde didn't usually aim to devastate, but sometimes, it seemed, he couldn't help it.   
  
“Maybe we should just say goodbye right here,” Token said as he pulled into Clyde's driveway.   
  
“If you want,” Clyde said, reaching for his seat belt. Token grabbed his arm, and Clyde looked over at him. He seemed worse for having spent two days in Token's company, unraveled and insecure. At least at that party at Kyle and Stan's apartment he'd just been sad and self-contained.   
  
“I don't want you to marry Bebe,” Token said, trying to figure out if he'd said so already. He doubted it was news to Clyde either way.  
  
“I'm not like you,” Clyde said, and he unbuckled his seat belt, letting Token hold on to his arm. “I can't just walk away.”   
  
“Yes, you can. You won't let yourself.”  
  
“That's the same thing, Token,” Clyde said, and he got out of the car.   
  
Token helped him with his bags. In the foyer of Clyde's parents' house, they stood staring at each other's chests, unwilling to move, Clyde's Christmas presents at their feet.   
  
“Hey,” Token said, and Clyde looked up at him slowly. It was seductive, mostly because he didn't mean it that way, and didn't know that he was most perfect when he wasn't sure what would happen next. “I want a time machine, remember?” Token said, moving closer. “Give it to me. You're the only one who can.”   
  
“Ah--” Clyde said, and he left his lips open as Token leaned in to kiss him. Token held Clyde's face while they kissed, moaning when he felt the temperature of Clyde's cheeks change, until he was almost sticky with heat. Clyde held on to the front of Token's belt, his fingers digging in between it and the waistline of Token's pants.   
  
Token was afraid to stop and afraid to continue, which had always been the problem with Clyde. They heard a noise from the second floor and pulled apart, looking toward the stairs. Clyde's father was walking around up there, coughing. A door opened and closed.   
  
“Do you really want me at that dinner?” Token asked when he looked back to Clyde, their noses bumping together.   
  
“I want you there all the time,” Clyde said. He was still holding Token's belt like it was the bar keeping him in his seat on a roller coaster. “I want to buy you shirts and – all that stuff.”   
  
“Nobody is like them,” Token said, because he was talking about Stan and Kyle, who had maybe messed all the guys in their whole grade up for good by hooking their pinkies together when they sat next to each other in kindergarten and not letting go when the other boys teased them. “And how would that work with marrying Bebe, exactly?” Token asked.   
  
“Oh, well.” Clyde let go of Token's belt and scratched a hand through his hair, which was still a mess, creased in the back from the way he'd slept on it. “I was still in the past when I said that.” He met Token's eyes again shyly, looking like he felt guilty for wanting to escape. “That wasn't – you don't really know me anymore. That was the old me talking.”   
  
Token started to leave, and Clyde pulled him back with a moan, hugging him. They stood like that for a while, until they heard Clyde's dad calling for him, and Token left without looking back.   
  
Outside, the sun was breaking through the clouds in patches. Token got in his car and drove until he couldn't see Clyde's house anymore. He pulled over to make the call, and Craig picked up on the fourth ring.   
  
“Couldn't just take my word for it, could you?” Craig said.   
  
“For – what? I'm still in town.”   
  
“Duh.”   
  
“What, you saw me?”  
  
“Butters did,” Craig said. “He told Tweek. He said you were with Clyde. See how fun he is these days? I know you wouldn't be calling me if he hadn't just trashed you.”   
  
“He didn't trash me,” Token said. “He invited me to a dinner that I don't want to go to. And my flight doesn't leave until tomorrow, so. You guys could come over, if you're free.”   
  
There was a long silence. Token wondered if Craig was actually surprised.  
  
“Hello?” Token said.   
  
“No, I'm here,” Craig said. “Consulting my social calendar. Uh, it would be late. I have to work until ten thirty.”   
  
“No problem,” Token said. “I'm hungover as fuck, gonna go home and sleep for six hours.”   
  
“Yeah, I'm sure,” Craig said. “I haven't spoken to Clyde in a year and I'm still hungover from that shit.”   
  
“Don't be an asshole. You spoke to him at Kyle and Stan's. Or directed words toward him, anyway.”   
  
“I guess by 'spoke' I meant more like, 'fucked,' or 'had him iron my socks,' or something. So we'll be there at eleven.”   
  
He hung up. Token sat there for a while with the phone in his lap, wanting to be elsewhere but looking forward to the evening. He wanted Clyde to come, too. He wanted to go back in time, right the fuck back to that night.  
  
When he got back to the house, Vlad was sitting at the bar in the kitchen, eating a foul-smelling pasta salad. Token was glad not to be in the house alone, though he hoped Vlad would make himself scarce later.   
  
"Need anything from the store?" Vlad asked.   
  
"What store?"  
  
"Groceries."   
  
"No, thanks. Oh, wait, yes."   
  
Token gave him a list with the ingredients to make a decent meal. He was still interested in impressing Craig, though it pained him to admit this. Vlad left for the store and Token went upstairs to drop into bed, his head still aching dully. His clothes smelled like Clyde, and his pillow didn't feel enough like him when he pulled it into his arms, though it had been warmed by the watery sunlight through the window.   
  
It was dark when he woke up, and his phone was going off. The clock on his bedside table told him that it was almost ten, which didn't seem right. The caller was Bebe, and he was tempted to let it go to voicemail, but he picked it up on the fourth ring.  
  
"What's going on with Clyde?" she asked.   
  
"Huh? I don't know. In what sense?"  
  
"He got drunk at dinner and talked about you," Bebe said. "A lot."  
  
"In -- oh. What did he say?"  
  
"Nothing too exciting." She was quiet for a while. "Does he know you're gay?"  
  
"Yeah. Why?"  
  
"I don't know." She sighed. "He keeps offering me his insurance."  
  
"You mean asking you to marry him?"  
  
"Well, I wouldn't call it that, but technically, yes."   
  
"Don't you think he should move out of South Park?" Token stood from the bed, the half-erection he had from napping and possibly dreaming about Clyde sinking as he adjusted his boxers.   
  
"Oh, absolutely," Bebe said. "But only if he takes me with him."  
  
"Ha. So you're going to marry him?"  
  
"I don't think so. Token, you should have come to dinner. It was so awful. You would have hated it. Karen brought her mom, and she was drunk. She was talking about suing Cartman, and Clyde was encouraging her."  
  
"Suing him for what?" Token tried to envision these two drunks at a table at Bennigan's, Clyde and Mrs. McCormick, getting each other worked up while Bebe and Karen poked at their food in silence.   
  
"Neglect?" Bebe said. "She doesn't have a real case. She's just so -- everybody's so angry. Are you really leaving tomorrow?"  
  
"I have to," Token said.   
  
"I know. You have a life."  
  
"That's not what I meant," he said. "I miss having you up there. You could--"  
  
"No, I couldn't. And don't tell Clyde that he could. He knows he could, I know he could. You just hurt his feelings, reminding him."   
  
"Clyde's not the only one who has feelings," Token said, and he rolled his eyes at himself, wanting to retract that.   
  
"I know," she said. "But nobody has feelings quite like Clyde's. People who love him know that."  
  
She seemed to be implying that Token knew that. He did, and he didn't want to talk about why or how.  
  
"Gotta go," he said. "I'm making this seafood stew for Craig."  
  
Bebe was silent for a moment, and he imagined her rearing back. "Why?"  
  
"Because it's my last night in town," Token said. "Tweek's coming, too," he said, before she could get the wrong idea.   
  
"Will I see you tomorrow?" Bebe asked, apparently not wanting to pursue the subject of Craig. "Before your flight?"  
  
"Doubtful," Token said. "But I'll call you when I'm back in Boston."  
  
He hung up with her and took a shower. By the time he heard the doorbell the stew was underway, but they wouldn't be eating until midnight, which seemed appropriate. Token answered the door, and Craig gave him a once over. Craig was wearing what appeared to be the same outfit that he'd had on when he came over before the gathering at Stan and Kyle's, and Tweek was beside him in his usual nondescript button-up and jeans, holding a bottle of vodka.   
  
"I figured I owed you one," Craig said, taking the vodka and handing it to Token. "It's not good or anything, but it does the job. Nice socks."  
  
"Thanks," Token said, glancing down to see what was nice about them. They were just normal gym socks, white with gray toes. "C'mon in. I'm cooking, so I hope you haven't eaten."  
  
"I had a gyro at work, but I could eat," Craig said. "Tweek? You hungry?"  
  
"Gah -- I don't know." Tweek followed Craig into the foyer, looking around as if he feared a surprise party. "Do you have any bread?" he asked.   
  
"Sure, there's bread," Token said, and he herded them toward the kitchen.  
  
Token wasn't sure what his plan was. The mood was more relaxed than he'd expected, and he was drinking, which he hadn't planned on. The cheap vodka sat on the counter while Craig helped himself to bourbon from the bar in the den. Tweek nibbled bread and took sips from the glass of expensive cabernet sauvigion that Token had poured for him.  
  
"So, I have to say," Craig said as he was circling the kitchen, twirling his bourbon in his palm. "I'm gonna miss you when you leave."   
  
"Yeah, you guys, too," Token said.   
  
"What, you don't have a Boston version of us?" Craig asked, coming to stand beside him at the stove.   
  
"You guys are one of a kind," Token said, and Craig's smile was pretty authentic, he thought.   
  
"I was right about Clyde, wasn't I?" Craig said, rather quietly, as if he wanted to keep this from Tweek.   
  
"Right in what sense?" Token asked.   
  
"He's infuriating," Craig said. "With that talent for making everyone feel like they've failed him. Which he's definitely got. Which I envy, I think."  
  
"Don't envy him," Token said. "He's -- I don't know. I've been thinking about that night."  
  
"That night?" Tweek chirped from behind them, as if he'd been dreading the subject.   
  
"New Year's Eve," Craig said. "The consummation!"   
  
"Don't call it that," Token muttered, returning his eyes to the stew. It looked and smelled too spicy, rivulets of cayenne pepper flowing past scallops and chunks of grouper.   
  
"That was the most genuinely surprising moment of my life," Craig said. "When you looked up from your panting, penetrated damsel in distress and wanted to fuck _me_." He turned to Tweek. "Weren't you surprised?"  
  
"No," Tweek said.   
  
"Really." Craig sipped from his drink and rested his still scrawny ass against the kitchen cabinets. "And why not?"  
  
"Because -- gah! I don't know! Token, um." Tweek laced his fingers together and fidgeted. "He didn't want to hurt Clyde."  
  
"But he wanted to hurt me?" Craig said.   
  
"No," Token said.  
  
"That's not what I meant!" Tweek grunted and rubbed his palms into his eyes. "Shit, why are we talking about this?"  
  
"Because it's Token's last night in town," Craig said, and Token thought of what he'd said to Bebe earlier, about the stew. He could avoid South Park for the rest of his life if he wanted to. His parents were always happy to make the trip to Boston, and their business took them there frequently enough anyway.   
  
"He knew that wouldn't -- gah! It wouldn't hurt you," Tweek said. "Not like -- with Clyde. You know?"  
  
"No, no -- see, you're making the mistake Token made." Craig set his drink down and leaned over to peer at the stew. "Clyde wanted me to watch him get fucked by Token, that was the whole _point_."  
  
"He said that?" Token asked.   
  
"He didn't need to," Craig said. "He didn't even know he wanted that until it was dangling right in front of his face. So did you guys fuck, or what?"  
  
"When?" Token asked, though it didn't matter, because they never had.  
  
"Behind the drapes at the Donovan family Thanksgiving," Craig said. "Or anywhere, I guess. Did you?"  
  
"No," Token said. "He wants to marry Bebe."   
  
"Of course he does," Craig said, snorting. "Is this stuff almost ready or what?"   
  
They ate at the kitchen table, finished off the bottle of wine and opened another. Craig avoided it and stuck to bourbon, but he didn't seem drunk. Token's lips were tingling from the spiciness of the stew. He wondered if Tweek and Craig expected him to seduce them, or if they had plans of their own.  
  
"This is pretty good!" Tweek said, though he'd only taken a few tiny sips of the broth.   
  
"Thanks," Token said. "It's the only recipe I've memorized."   
  
"Clyde is allergic to shellfish," Craig said.  
  
"He is?" Token asked. It was like a punch in the gut, proof that he had a particular talent for failing Clyde.   
  
"Yep," Craig said. "So you'd better not kiss him if he shows up!"  
  
"Jesus, dude!" Tweek said. "Clyde's not coming, is he?" he asked, looking at Token.   
  
"No," Token said. "I think I wanted him to, but he's not going to show."   
  
"What I would give to watch you finger him again," Craig said, and Token choked on some soup.  
  
"You enjoyed that?" he said. "I thought it just pissed you off."  
  
"It did at the time," Craig said. He shrugged. "I've grown as a person. I could appreciate a good Token fingering Clyde scenario now."  
  
"Stop being so crass," Token said. "You cared about him."   
  
"No, that's the problem," Craig said. "That's not exactly accurate."  
  
"Bullshit--"  
  
"Because it's not past tense," Craig said. He smirked at the remainder of his bourbon and then drank it.   
  
"Well," Token said. "Well, I mean--"   
  
"It's not like we want him to move back in," Tweek said. He was holding his spoon in his fist, his other hand clawed around the edge of the table. "He was our friend, dude! Gah -- we miss him!"  
  
"I think he would reconcile with you," Token said.   
  
"The punch he threw at my face would tell you otherwise," Craig said. He spent the next thirty minutes or so studying his empty bourbon glass while Tweek helped Token clean up. Token thought a grand gesture was in order, so he walked over to Craig and leaned down to hug him. Craig didn't stiffen or reciprocate, and Token kissed his cheek, testing him. Tweek was at the sink, humming to himself while he cleaned his wine glass.   
  
"I think we all grew up," Craig said, looking at their reflection in the window across from the table. "Except you."   
  
"Maybe so," Token said. He stood up, his hands sliding off of Craig's shoulders. "South Park ages you."   
  
"Yeah," Craig said. "So take to the skies, Peter Pan."   
  
"Not till tomorrow," Token said. "Want to watch a movie?"  
  
"I suppose," Craig said, standing. "Since we're one man short of an orgy."   
  
"That's not--" Token said, stammering. He wished he hadn't gotten drunk. Craig shook his head and patted Token's cheek.  
  
"No, no, it's okay," Craig said. "Those were the best times of my life, too. Not really sustainable, though." His gaze drifted sideways until he was looking at nothing, slightly dazed. "Remember how you would pick me up? What did I weigh, one thirty? One twenty?"  
  
"You were weightless," Token said. "You were Peter Pan, you know. For us. Back then. We were your lost boys."   
  
"I think I was more like Captain Hook," Craig said. "But, okay." He kissed Token on the lips, chastely, and drifted over to Tweek.   
  
There were no suitable movies on TV, so they watched a repeat of an NBA game until Token heard the doorbell. It was two o'clock in the morning, and Tweek was asleep with his head in Craig's lap. Craig had been dozing, his head falling forward and snapping back up when he felt the rush of gravity, but he was wide awake as Token stood to get the door.   
  
"Whoops," Craig said.   
  
"What do you mean, whoops?" Token asked. "Did you call him?"  
  
"I haven't called anyone," Craig said. "How do you know it's Clyde?"  
  
"Because -- because it's my last night in town." Token groaned and headed for the door, not sure what he was going to do. He still half wanted an orgy, though he was too tired and drunk to get an erection. He would settle for all of them in the same bed.   
  
"Sorry," Clyde said when Token pulled open the door. Clyde was flushed and disheveled, his hair still a mess, but he seemed sober.  
  
"Don't be sorry," Token said. "Come in."  
  
"That's Craig's car parked out front," Clyde said. "Isn't it?"  
  
"Well," Token said, and then Craig appeared behind him in the foyer, yawning.   
  
"I guess it goes without saying that we were just talking about you," Craig said.  
  
"No, we weren't!" Token said. "Clyde -- come in--"  
  
"It's okay," Clyde said, backing away from Token's outstretched hand. "I just wanted to say goodbye."  
  
"I could make myself scarce," Craig said, though he wasn't budging, standing in the middle of Token's foyer with the awkward attentiveness of a bathroom attendant.   
  
"It's okay," Clyde said. He was looking at Token, swallowing visibly. "I just wanted to see you one more time," he said.   
  
"Clyde, you can come in," Token said. He reached for Clyde again, but he was evasive, as available as a ghost. "Or, better, hey. Come visit me in Boston. You and Bebe, I'd love to have you--"  
  
Craig snickered and Token turned to glare at him. When he looked back at Clyde he had backed down off the front steps, holding the railing.   
  
"I'm sorry I was in a bad mood earlier," Token said, wondering if he should chase after Clyde. It didn't seem possible with Craig watching. Which had always been the problem.   
  
"I'm sorry, too," Clyde said. "For what I said. About time traveling."   
  
"Don't be sorry," Token said, watching him go. He still hadn't turned, which was something. He was holding his keys, his hands shaking a little. He had no jacket.   
  
"Where's Tweek?" Clyde asked, and Token wasn't sure if he was asking him or Craig.  
  
"He's inside," Token said when Craig didn't answer. "Sleeping."  
  
"Oh -- good. Okay." Clyde lifted one hand, his other hand closed around his keys in a tight fist, trembling. "Goodnight."   
  
Token wanted to go after him, but there was no point. He couldn't delay his flight again. He was needed back in Boston, and in Hong Kong, in places that where nobody knew about South Park's existence. He slipped back into the house, shut the door, and jumped when Craig laid a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Forget it, Token," he said, squeezing a little. "It's Chinatown."   
  
They went back into the living room and sat together for a long time, staring at the TV. The sound of it blurred between Token's ears, wordless and numbing. Around four in the morning he slid his hand over and hooked his pinkie around Craig's. Craig smiled, kept his eyes on the TV, and let Token hold on until he dropped to sleep. His last semi-conscious thought, which somehow wasn't a comfort, was that he'd saved Clyde's life by not kissing him one last time, though he was pretty sure Craig had been lying about the shellfish thing.


	6. Chapter 6

In Boston the cold felt different than it had in South Park, though the temperature was about the same when Token arrived home. It was strange to think of it that way: to leave South Park for Boston was to go home, and not vice versa, but he felt like himself again as he pulled his rolling suitcase into his apartment and turned on the lights. He felt like his more recent, relevant self, anyway.

He thought of texting Craig to let him know that he'd arrived home safely, but that seemed ridiculous, though Craig had been the one who drove him to the airport. He texted Bebe instead, and tried to imagine her surroundings when she received the message: was she beside Clyde at brunch? In bed, alone, still half-expecting to hear from Kenny? Token wished he could send that message, or that kind of message, though he wouldn't be sending it to her. _Not dead after all. On my way back_. At the same time, there was nothing he wanted less than to return to South Park anytime soon.

Life in Boston resumed, but Token was often in a fog at work, thinking about the week of Thanksgiving and the many things he might have done differently. Often his thoughts returned to that final night and what might have happened if Clyde had come to his house and not seen Craig's car in the driveway, not seen Craig lurking boastfully behind Token in the foyer. The best possible scenario Token could come up with was that Clyde would have come inside, they would have had sex by the fire, Clyde possibly would have cried, and in the morning Token would have flown back to Boston alone, leaving Clyde in tears. He wasn't optimistic enough about the situation, even in his fantasies, to imagine that he could have convinced Clyde to join him, set up a life for him in Boston and turned everything around between the two of them. He couldn't change the past, and Clyde was still living in it. Extracting him from South Park would probably temporally destabilize him further, and at least there he had Bebe and her unborn child to center his stunted life around. Thinking of it this way made Token realize he was angry at Clyde and that he couldn't say why, except that Clyde's regret about how things had been with Craig made Token uncomfortable, because he could understand it precisely and yet couldn't relate to it at all. Token's trauma surrounding that time in their lives was all centered on Clyde. Despite his once-central position in all of their lives, Craig never had the power to hurt Token the way Clyde did.

Token also felt like he hadn't earned the right to be hurt, so he didn't talk to anyone about it. He didn't text Craig, didn't call Bebe to review the events of the week at home, and on New Year's Eve he had sex with an insurance agent named Tom who had big brown eyes. Halfway through the sex, beginning to sober, Token regretted it and wanted to go to bed alone, but he still finished and let the guy sleep at his place.

In February he got the official word about being transferred to the Hong Kong office. They gave him three months notice so he could sell his apartment in Boston and tie up any other lose ends in the States. Token's parents were apprehensive but proud of him. It was a very significant raise in terms of pay and title.

Token took the news about his forthcoming relocation numbly, resigned to go where the money was and vaguely curious about living in another part of the world. He didn't feel nervous, but he didn't expect to enjoy the new city, or much of anything in the immediate future. He sent an email to Bebe, who he'd talked to only a few times since the holidays. Her pregnancy was progressing normally, and she gave him only minimal news about Clyde's involvement in her life, possibly at Clyde's request. In response to his news about moving out of the country, Bebe emailed back a frowny face, and five minutes later Token's phone rang.

“Seriously?” she said. “Why?”  


“Well, because I work for a company that wants to send me there. It isn't something I volunteered for. But why not? I don't have much of a life here, outside of work.”

“Here? Where? America?”

“Boston. But, well, yeah.”

“Token.”

“What?”

“I don't know. You make me sad. I was so jealous that you got out, really out, that you didn't end up back here like me, like the rest of us, but now it seems wrong.”

“Ha, well. You're the only one who feels that way, I think.”

“No.”

“What do you mean 'no'?” Token groaned after asking, afraid to hear the answer.

“Everything's off balance without you.”

“I think you're really talking about Kenny,” he said, and then, “Sorry.”

“Maybe. I mean, of course. It's terrible without him here, Token. I'm a zombie. If it wasn't for the baby—”

“What?” Token asked, concerned when she lingered in this pause.

“Nothing, just. I need someone else to live for now. If it was just me, I'd be so low, but she's – she needs me.”

“Huh.” Token thought of Clyde saying the exact same thing, about Bebe. But what had Clyde lost that had laid him so low? Not a fiancé, not a loving partner who'd left him with a child. Craig's dysfunctional household hardly amounted to that. “Well. That's a nice way to think of it.”

“It just makes me sad,” Bebe said. “Nothing turned out the way it was supposed to. Don't you feel that way?”

“I feel like maybe we're too young to say anything's 'turned out' yet. You know?”

“That's very wise,” Bebe said, and she laughed like she knew he didn't actually believe that.

At the start of May, Token sold his apartment with just three weeks to spare before his move. He had a place arranged for him in Hong Kong by the company, and had his plane ticket booked. One way. He wasn't planning on returning to South Park, his parents already in Europe for the summer, and was going to badger his company about paying for a hotel room in Boston for the remaining three weeks. Then he got a phone call from Bebe at two o'clock in the morning on a Wednesday.

“What's wrong?” he asked as soon as he heard her voice. It was shaking. He thought of the baby, afraid Bebe would be lost along with it if something had happened.  
  
"Kenny is back," she said.  
  
"He -- what?"  
  
It was dark in Token's apartment, and something about hearing that gave him a chill, though he couldn't really ascribe anything but dull surprise to this news. Kenny's disappearance had never made sense, so it should have been less jarring to hear that he'd returned, but Token was thrown by this; there was something eerie about it that he couldn't put his finger on, and Bebe's panicked breathing over the phone wasn't helping. He switched on the lamp beside his bed and slid his feet into a pair of slippers, as if he could cross the hall and comfort Bebe.  
  
"Is he there with you now?" Token asked.  
  
"No. Clyde is here. He says I shouldn't-- Clyde is very angry."  
  
"Okay. Well, so am I, but what's he got to say for himself? Kenny, I mean?"  
  
"He cried when I told him I'm pregnant. I mean, obviously I'm pregnant, I'm fat as a whale, but when I confirmed the reason for the sudden weight gain he was happy. He didn't know. He said he didn't want to leave, that he was forced."  
  
"Forced, like. Kidnapped?"  
  
"That's when things got weird. Kenny was struggling to explain, he was very emotional, and Clyde got all up in his face, shouting accusations--"  
  
"Oh, Jesus."  
  
"Yeah. I'm kind of shaken, like. He doesn't seem okay, Token."  
  
"Kenny?"  
  
"Clyde."  
  
Token had been afraid she would say that. He sighed and sat on his bed again, rubbing his hand over his face and feeling as if South Park had crept right up to his twelfth story window in Boston, as if it was out there waiting, a worm hole that would suck him back into all of this. His heart was racing, and he wanted to be there for Bebe, to listen calmly to Kenny, and hold Clyde until he stopped shaking. Token was sure, wherever he was at the moment, that Clyde was cold and frightened and biting back tears.  
  
"So you're still at Clyde's place?"  
  
"Yes. I sent him to his room. Isn't that terrible? It's his apartment. But I can't be around him when he's like that, Token. You know he punched Craig, right? In the face?"  
  
"Yeah. I know about that."  
  
"Kenny was so stunned, he barely reacted. He had no idea how close Clyde and I have become, but. It's strange, because Clyde is so private and pent up, and he's determined to pretend like everything is fine, for my sake and the baby's. He still talks about getting married."  
  
"Goddammit."

Token knew then that he'd have to go back to South Park, not because he felt any real sense of responsibility or felt that he could help, but because it would eat away at him every hour he wasn't there, knowing this was going on and that Clyde was unraveling at last.  
  
"Kenny has money," Bebe said. "Or so he says. He still hasn't explained where he was, Clyde threw him out before he could, but -- oh, god, Token, I just want to forgive him so badly!" She started crying then, and Token ached to be with her, to fix things. "Does that make me weak?" she asked. "Sentimental, a dumb, pregnant girl with no principles? I should hate him, Clyde says, for leaving--"  
  
"Clyde doesn't know the situation. He's in no position to judge anyone for being emotionally co-dependent, either."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"When he lived with Craig -- never mind. Are you okay?"  
  
"I think so? I don't know, I just. There's so much going on, and this is terrible, but I just really want to be with Kenny right now."  
  
"It's not terrible. I get why Clyde's mad, and I get why you want to forgive. It's not an easy situation to parse, especially when we don't know all the details yet."  
  
"Token," Bebe said, laughing.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing. I miss you. I wish you were here to say 'parse' to me in person."  
  
"I miss you, too--"  
  
"I can't believe you're moving to China!"  
  
"Well. Not immediately. Do you need, um. Do you want--"  
  
"There's a baby shower," Bebe said, hurrying the words out. "Next week, my mom's hosting it at the house. All the usual suspects will be there. You could come, you could -- it would really mean a lot to me, having you there. You keep me grounded when all this shit's swirling around me."  
  
"They're like a human tornado, these people."  
  
"Not all the time." Bebe sighed. "But sometimes, yeah. I'm sorry, I know you have a life outside of all of this--"  
  
"You know, I guess I do, but it's never been quite as exciting as the South Park cyclone. Of course I'll come."  
  
"Token. Are you sure--"  
  
"I'm sure. I'll be there. As soon as I can."  
  
Token hung up and stared down at his phone, wondering if he should text Clyde. He had no idea what he would say, and Clyde wasn't the kind of person who couldn't really be comforted long distance. Clyde had to be pulled close, held, warmed between someone's hands. Token sent a text message to Craig instead.  
  
 _Big news. Kenny back in town. Me too, soon._  
  
He watched his phone for a while, then went to get himself a glass of milk from the kitchen. There was no point in trying to sleep again: he was wide awake now, wondering how soon he could get away from work and back to South Park. He wasn't sure what the point would be, since he'd committed to leaving for Hong Kong in three weeks and would never consent to returning to South Park for good, but he had to see the state of things for himself, like before. He'd gone back to spend Thanksgiving in an empty house; why? There had been some reason, something concrete that wasn't about Clyde, but he couldn't remember it now. He returned to his bedroom feeling disoriented, like he was stumbling through a dreamworld where South Park and Boston were neighboring cities, as if he might look out the window and see mountains in the distance, the glow of a hometown that had never quite felt like one should, except for the fact that the people there still preoccupied him, and had the ability to call him back in the middle of the night. In a sense, he was already there, and checking his phone to see a new message from Craig seemed to confirm this.  
  
 _Good. Clyde was embarrassing himself with that domestic charade. But why are you coming back? Heard you were in the Far East._  
  
 _Don't call it the far east. I'm coming back for the baby shower. Why are you awake?_  
  
 _I'm nocturnal. Aren't baby showers for women?_  
  
 _Not this one_  
  
 _Well, Tweek and I were not invited, but what else is new. Where was Kenny all this time?_  
  
 _Don't know. Talk to him for me? Try to find out?_  
  
 _Perhaps I will._  
  
Token wasn't sure how to respond to that, or that he wanted the conversation with Craig to continue for much longer. It was strange to talk to him while sitting in his apartment in Boston, even if he felt as though South Park was lurking just outside. To prove to himself that it wasn't, he went to the window and looked out at the city. It had snowed earlier but the skies were clear now, and the river looked pretty in the moonlight. Standing there at the window, Token felt nostalgic for Boston, though he hadn't yet left.  
  
Hours later he tried to sleep, and every time he was able to drift off his sleep was interrupted by bad dreams: vague images of Clyde in peril, out of reach both physically and otherwise. He woke up in a bad mood, regretting his late night agreement to return to South Park, but a few hours later he was at his desk at work, checking airfare prices. He'd spoken to his boss about a week off to tie up loose ends, not specifying that he would be doing so in another city entirely.  
  
He didn't normally fly first class, but with the Hong Kong money forthcoming he could afford it. As soon as he found his seat he regretted the decision, despite the extra leg room. Traveling in this quiet and spacious sanctuary at the front of the plane wouldn't put him in the right mindset for South Park. He should have flown coach, amid squalling babies and intruding elbows, crowded and uncomfortable. It would at least have made him more eager to disembark. As it was, watching the clouds and sipping champagne, he wanted the flight to last for days.  
  
Vlad picked him up at the airport. Seeing Craig or Bebe first thing would have been too much, but in the backseat of the family town car Token was anxious anyway, his eyes on the dirty snowbanks that lined the roads.  
  
"Seen my parents lately?" Token asked. They'd been to see him in Boston two weeks ago, full of advice about Hong Kong based on their business trips and one vacation there, but they didn't discuss South Park.  
  
"Yes," Vlad said. "They were back to talk with real estate agent."  
  
"What real estate agent? They're selling the house here?"  
  
"Just pricing it, I think."  
  
Token wondered why they hadn't mentioned it, though he supposed there would have been no point. They didn't know about Clyde, Craig or any of it beyond the names of the friends he'd had as a kid. With Token preparing to move out of the country, why would he be interested in hearing about their initial plans to get rid of the old house South Park? His heard was thudding hard as they pulled up the driveway, and he regarded the place as if it already belonged to strangers, a transient space where he would have to be careful not to spill anything or scuff the floors.  
  
Vlad had stocked the fridge with the basics: milk, a few polished gala apples, the fancy carrot juice Token liked and the cheap frozen pizzas he always reverted to eating when he was back at home and the house was empty. Token put a pizza in the oven before calling Bebe. She didn't answer, so he left a message saying he'd landed. He called Craig next, half hoping he'd get voicemail again, but Craig always picked up.  
  
"I like this new routine," Craig said. "You calling me when you're back in town. You being back in town, even."  
  
"Well, don't get used to it. Soon I'll be in the far east."  
  
"Yes, yes, you're running away. So this is the farewell tour? Or farewell fuck?"  
  
"Bebe needs support. And I want to see everyone before I leave."  
  
"So it is a farewell fuck. You know, I think that might be exactly what Clyde needs. He's been -- feral."  
  
"Great. Wait, what? How so?"  
  
"It's as if, hmm. How to state this. It's as if he was very invested in pretending everything was okay, that Bebe and her offspring would give him a purpose in life at last, and then Kenny swaggered back in with his redneck charm and resumed his place in her bed. Now Clyde is stripped of his man suit and just kind of rampaging."  
  
"Fuck. Okay, well. I'm going to go see him. Do you think? Or should I not?"  
  
"You're asking me? I never figured out the Clyde equation! I tried to solve for x and got his fist in my face. I spoke to Kenny, by the way."  
  
"Maybe you should just come over. I'm at the house. Which my parents are selling, I hear."  
  
"Oh no!"  
  
Token waited for some kind of sarcastic rejoinder, but Craig seemed to be sincerely upset, humming under his breath in distress.  
  
"Well," Token said. "They only really moved here to raise me, you know, in a sleepy suburb. Now that's done."  
  
"Christ, is it? Have we all been raised? It's over, we're grown up? That's bad news for me."  
  
"Craig."  
  
"Sorry, I'm feeling dramatic. Lots of things are happening. Chiefly, I've got to get ready for work. But I could come over afterward. I could tell you about Kenny -- or, better yet, I could bring him. He's one of two people in this town who like me."  
  
"I like you."  
  
"I know, I was counting you as well."  
  
"How about Tweek?"  
  
"Tweek loves me! That's different. How's eleven?"  
  
Token agreed to that and hung up feeling profoundly lonely, longing to tell Clyde that he understood the pain of being a spare part while watching others pair up, though he didn't think Clyde would be receptive to that and didn't really want to embarrass himself by admitting it. Token had confidently slept with men in Boston, had enjoyed it, had kissed them tenderly, had become fully comfortable with his bisexuality and the fact that it was leading him more and more toward male partners. Was Clyde's problem really that he thought Craig had tricked him into desiring men? Did he even desire them, generally? Maybe Clyde was asexual and had only ever been playing along with the group, trying to be a good sport. But that didn't seem right when Token remembered kissing Clyde. He'd never felt so wanted by anybody. Maybe Token had been afraid to disappoint that want, to be lesser in that department than Craig had been, despite or maybe because of his warmth. Craig had been warm, too, at moments. Just not for Clyde, and maybe the real problem was wrapped up in that somehow, still.  
  
Though he had lost his appetite for the most part, Token sat at the kitchen counter and glumly consumed his pizza. It burned his tongue, and he wanted a beer to wash it down, but Vlad hadn't bought any. Token picked up his phone to tell Craig to bring some later, though he knew Craig didn't drink beer. Kenny did, probably. He saw a new text from Bebe and opened it:  
  
 _Thank God you're here. Clyde is missing._  
  
"Great," Token said, and he let the phone clatter onto the counter, too torn up by all the past tense 'maybes' cycling through his head to deal with the present just yet. He went to the windows, peered out at the pool and the landscaped bushes, and was actually surprised when he didn't see Clyde lurking anywhere out there.  
  
*  
  
Craig arrived half an hour late, and Token was in a bad mood, having been put in the humiliating position of anticipating an evening with Craig and wondering if he would be stood up. When he finally heard Craig's beater pull into the driveway, Token watched from the front windows as Tweek and Kenny climbed out as well. Kenny looked good, taller somehow, and he seemed to be in good spirits from afar. Craig was holding a damp-looking paper bag. Tweek was Tweek: waif-like, dwarfed by his coat, and crossing the driveway as if expecting sniper fire.  
  
"I brought Greek potatoes and loose gyro meat," Craig said, hoisting the bag as Token opened the door. "And Kenny."  
  
"And ouzo!" Kenny said, lifting a green bottle. He grinned and stepped into the doorway to hug Token. "Really glad you came, man," he said, like Token had just arrived at a party Kenny was hosting. That seemed accurate somehow, even as Token led them into the kitchen.  
  
"Craig said your parents are selling this place!" Tweek said while Token hunted for the appropriate glassware for ouzo consumption.  
  
"They're thinking about it," he said, glancing at Craig, who was opening styrofoam takeout containers full of very fragrant meat and oregano-speckled potatoes.  
  
"Maybe me and Bebe will buy it," Kenny said, and he smirked when Token looked at him hopefully. "That was a joke, man. I've got some savings, but having the baby in the hospital's gonna wipe it out. Mom says we should do a home birth. Did you know that me and my siblings were all born in that house on Monk Street?"  
  
"Gross," Craig said.  
  
"You're just saying that 'cause vaginas are involved," Kenny said. "Nothing wrong with a good old-fashioned home birth. But Bebe wants to have the baby at Hell's Pass, so that's that."  
  
"I assume she's told you it's a girl?" Token said. Every other question seemed too big to start with.  
  
"Yep," Kenny said, still smiling like an idiot. "We're going for a sonogram tomorrow before the shower. I'll get to see her."  
  
"Kenny is some kind of pod person now," Craig said, waving his hand to dismiss this baby talk. He'd gotten some of the good china from the kitchen cabinets and was scraping gyro meat onto a plate. "I find it amusing," Craig said. "This whole new Kenny, father-to-be, though it's also obscene. Token, may I offer you some of South Park's finest Mediterranean cuisine?"  
  
"I already ate. Thanks, though, um. Kenny, so. Where have you been, man?"  
  
Finally, the goofy, gleeful expression left Kenny's face. He took a deep breath and looked down at the ouzo Token was pouring for him. Predictably, Craig threw back one glass and then a second. Token sniffed at one and Kenny took a gulp from the fourth.  
  
"I was in hell," Kenny said. "Total hell."  
  
"Yeah?" Token glanced at Craig, but he was no help, pouring himself more ouzo. "How so?"  
  
"Would you believe me if I said I got hit by a train?"  
  
"Well -- what?" Token drank from his ouzo, though the smell was awful and the taste was worse, like poisoned black licorice. Something about that train story sounded familiar and felt true. Had Bebe mentioned it already?  
  
"I was hit by a train," Kenny said again, and Tweek made a nervous barking noise that was almost a laugh. Kenny glanced at him, then back at Token. "And I developed a temporary amnesia," he said, flatly, like a soap opera actor who knew he was delivering a bad line. Token snorted, but Kenny seemed serious.  
  
"I'd go with the pod person story if I were you," Craig said.  
  
"Where _were_ you, though?" Token asked, not ready to unpack that amnesia claim yet, or maybe ever. "Like, the impact of the train blasted you into the next state, or what?"  
  
Tweek laughed again, then pulled the collar of his shirt into his mouth and chewed on it apologetically when everyone stared at him.  
  
"When my memories were restored," Kenny said -- again, flatly, "I was in Seattle, working for a fishmonger. He was also a drug runner, a middleman, and I helped him with that until I had enough money to come home. I knew Bebe would be mad, that she wouldn't believe this story -- and I don't expect you guys to believe it, either, for the record, though it's true every way that matters -- so I figured I'd save up twenty thousand dollars and buy her a house, or a ring, or whatever. A sort of 'sorry I got hit by a train, developed temporary amnesia and disappeared' gift, you know?"  
  
"Where am I?" Token asked, looking up at the kitchen ceiling. "Is this place even real?"  
  
"Yes," Craig said. "But it's also not Kansas anymore."  
  
"So that's where I've been," Kenny said. He finished his ouzo and plonked the glass on the counter. "Bebe's mother wants to kill me, naturally."  
  
"Naturally. But what about Bebe? How'd she take all this?"  
  
"She's in the process of figuring out what to do with it. I don't blame her. But she still loves me, and she knows I love her, too. And the baby, our daughter. No more train tracks for me -- I've got a kid of my own on the way. Gotta stay in one piece from here on out."  
  
"This is not making a lot of sense," Token said. "Pardon me." He finished the ouzo and went to the bar in the living room to make something better. Craig followed, carrying his plate with him.  
  
"I heard Clyde's on the loose," Craig said. "Who do you think he'll kill first, me or Kenny?"  
  
"He's not killing anyone. He probably just needed some time away from all you lunatics."  
  
"We're the lunatics, really? Maybe Kenny is semi-insane, I'll give you that, but he's here having civil conversation at a dinner party like an adult. Clyde almost choked him. Tried to, anyway."  
  
"I doubt that."  
  
"You doubt that, huh? Why don't you go ask Kenny? He's right in there, back from the grave!"  
  
Something about that statement bothered Token, and he frowned at Craig, who was back to shoveling gyro meat into his mouth. He'd gained weight, possibly, since Thanksgiving.  
  
"Kenny," Token said as he walked back into the kitchen, Craig trailing him. "Did Clyde try to choke you?"  
  
"Hmm. Hard to say what he was trying to do. He just sort of flew at me and started sputtering angrily. It was weird. He didn't seem like himself."  
  
"Which is what, exactly?" Craig asked. "What is the real Clyde, according to Kenny? How does he usually _seem_?"  
  
"Nice?" Kenny said. "Calm? Smiley?"  
  
"Ha!" Craig said.  
  
"He does seem like that!" Tweek said. He was holding a bottle of unopened red wine, and Token felt like a bad host. He went for the opener while Tweek struggled to explain, twisting his palm around the neck of the wine bottle. Sometimes it was very hard for Token to believe that he'd ever trusted his cock to Tweek's mouth, teeth and all. "Clyde, ah. He wants everyone to like him! And he -- he doesn't like to make waves. When he punched Craig -- and now this -- what the hell is next, man?  Murder?"  
  
"Tweek," Token said, gently easing the bottle from this shaking hands. "You're shrieking. Relax, buddy."  
  
"Why should he?" Craig snapped. "You weren't there. Everyone in this room has seen Clyde's violence firsthand, except you."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean, I'm next?"  
  
"No! It means you can tame the beast, perhaps. Likely with your cock."  
  
Kenny laughed, then looked at Token.  
  
"Oh," he said, frowning a little. "You're gay, too?"  
  
"I'm bisexual," Token said, mumbling. Something about saying so in his parents' kitchen felt weird, though they had been the first people he officially came out to, here in this house, and he'd had many a bisexual encounter in this very room, including that kiss with Clyde on New Year's Eve. Token glanced at the place near the cabinets where it happened, feeling numb.  
  
"Well, hey," Kenny said after an awkward silence. "That's good. I mean, I'm cool with that, obviously. I'm bisexual myself."  
  
"Oh, no you are not!" Craig said, glowering at him. "You're so straight you want to stick your dick in a breast."  
  
"I like men, too! Sort of, in theory. Mostly those anime guys with pigtails and big boobs, like, wearing ripped maid uniforms, when I was fifteen. But Clyde -- Clyde? I thought he was into Bebe. I thought that's why he tried to hit me when I showed up."  
  
"He's into the idea of having a normal family with Bebe," Token said, and then he felt bad for trying to articulate it, because it was likely more complicated than that, and he could hardly pretend to understand Clyde's vaguely romantic motivations. "He used to -- with us, in high school, uh. And he never got okay with it."  
  
"He basically claims I raped him," Craig said. Tweek shouted and jerked as if jabbed in the ribs, wine sloshing out of the glass Token had given him.  
  
"Jesus," Kenny said. "But. You didn't, right?"  
  
"It's--" Token said, and he winced. "Let's not--"  
  
"Oh, who's to say!" Craig bellowed. "It seemed to me that I was only suggesting to him, for instance, 'Clyde, come suck my dick,' and he would crawl to said dick on all fours, drooling and erect--"  
  
"Stop," Token said, more sharply than he meant to. The air in the room had changed. Token had the awful feeling that Clyde was hiding behind the drapes, hearing all of this. "I don't think you're characterizing his struggle with this accurately or respectfully. So stop."  
  
"His _struggle_?" Craig was rapidly going to a bad place; Token wondered how much ouzo he'd had before he showed up. Kenny had been driving, and the bottle had been open, half empty. "You know," Craig said, "I've been thinking about this since Thanksgiving, and here's how I see it. Here's _my_ struggle, if you will. Clyde had a crush on me as a kid. I did not return his feelings, but I did feel a certain greedy possessiveness of that crush, his admiration, what have you. So when I started to realize he was transferring his feelings to Token, despite me generously offering physical attention to Clyde as a kind of sidebar to my relationship with Tweek, I felt competitive, and probably said some mean things to discourage him from pursuing Token."  
  
"Wait, what?" Token put his drink down. He needed to be sober for this, but maybe it was too late for that. "What? When?"  
  
"I--" Craig's voice wavered a little, and he glanced at Kenny, who seemed like he wanted to bolt. "I once said -- suggested -- that you probably wouldn't take him seriously. Since you always seemed to think you were better than us and what we did. How we were."  
  
"Oh." Token looked around for a chair. There were only barstools within reach, and they seemed too challenging at the moment. "Oh. I see."  
  
"I was a jealous child!" Craig said. "I'm sorry, okay? And then you left for Boston, and I -- maybe I sort of, held him hostage with my meanness, and my corresponding -- affection, and my -- smallness, my own fucked up, insecure shit, but I -- I'm only realizing that now, you see, and it's too late, so. I've ruined that man's life, and to be honest with you, if he's looking for a murder victim, I should probably volunteer."  
  
"Craig!" Tweek thrust the wine glass onto the counter, spilling but not breaking it. Token watched merlot spill across the granite like the recreation of a crime scene. Craig was in tears and trying to hide it, turning his back on them while Tweek wrapped him into his arms and whispered into his ear. Token gave Kenny an embarrassed, apologetic look.  
  
"Damn," Kenny said. "I guess I'm not the only one getting hit by trains around here."  
  
"Maybe you should go," Token said. "This is. I'm afraid this is very personal."  
  
"Sure, yeah, totally. Bebe's expecting me anyway, um. But I drove Craig's car, is the thing."  
  
"I can have my driver take you home."  
  
"Your _driver_?" Craig said, sputtering this out wetly. He still had his back to Token and Kenny. "My god. How perfectly absurd."  
  
"I'm talking about Vlad." Token shook his head and turned to Kenny. "He takes care of the house while we're -- he's in his room -- I'll get him."  
  
Token walked Kenny out after they'd summoned Vlad to bring the car around. It was snowing again, just lightly, and Token was cold without his jacket, which he'd left inside. Kenny wasn't wearing one either, but he seemed superhuman somehow, immune to the chill.  
  
"Intense shit going on all around town," Kenny said while they waited for Vlad.  
  
"I guess. I talked to Bebe earlier. She still hasn't heard from Clyde."  
  
"Aw, he'll turn up. You know, it makes sense, actually. The idea that he used to like you. He always seemed to think you were the greatest thing, in high school. I guess I assumed it was some kind of bro-like admiration."  
  
"Nothing about Clyde is as bro-like as people assume."  
  
"I did feel really bad, swooping in like that. He had everything set up for Bebe and our daughter, had a crib in his apartment and all that. I get that, I do. Wanting to be the hero, to dive into someone's fucked up life and save the day at the last second. It just never pans out the way you think it will."  
  
"I guess that's true." Token was ready to get rid of Kenny, wondering what was taking Vlad so long.  
  
"Hey, how's Cartman's kid doing?" Kenny asked, poking Token's arm. "Little Nelson? Bebe says he's doing alright, but I haven't seen them since I've been back, and he's got Cartman for a dad. That's a real health hazard."  
  
"I wouldn't know. I guess Butters helps out a lot. Look, there's the car."  
  
He packed Kenny off and promised again to show up at the baby shower tomorrow, though it was the last thing he wanted to do, especially with Clyde's whereabouts and mental state unknown.  
  
As he walked back into the house he remembered that Craig's current mental state was unknown, too, and was glad to find him in the living room, sitting on the couch and looking tired while Tweek cuddled him vigorously, his face pressed to Craig's neck. Craig shrugged and gave Token a sheepish smile that made him look so frightened and vulnerable that Token wanted to rush to the couch and cuddle him, too.  
  
"So there's the truth," Craig said, his voice even more nasal than usual. "I didn't want to lose you both to each other, so I got in the way."  
  
"You weren't just in the way. We were all together. It was a big, jumbled mess from the start, and that's not entirely your fault."  
  
"Yeah, but it's mostly my fault."  
  
"You were a kid, like you said. I'm gonna make some coffee. Do you guys want some?"  
  
"I'll make it!" Tweek leapt off the couch like he'd been waiting to start a foot race. "Is, uh, everything in the same place as it used to be?"  
  
"As far as I know, yeah. I don't really live here anymore."  
  
"That's depressing," Craig muttered as Tweek sprinted from the room.  
  
"A little, yeah." Token went to the couch and sat down next to Craig, not too close. He smelled like gyro grease and oregano, and he looked like he hadn't felt well in a long time. When he sniffled, it seemed like an invitation to scoot over and put an arm around him, so Token did.  
  
"This is the couch we fucked on," Craig said. Token snorted; so much for a tender moment of reflection. He was relieved that Craig wasn't interested in one, actually.  
  
"We all loved each other," Token said. "I believe that. Like Kenny said. No matter how crazy the explanation for how we hurt each other is, no matter how long we've been wandering around like amnesiacs, we loved each other, and that counts for a lot in terms of how we can forgive each other, someday. Even though we were kids and we treated love like it was a machine gun we were spraying in every direction, it still counts. You're not evil, Craig."  
  
"I didn't say I was."  
  
"I'm serious." Token touched Craig's chin, and it hurt when their eyes met, because that insecure beanpole who Token carried up the stairs of this house was still in there, crumpled by time and more afraid than ever. "You're not a bad person," Token said. "You're just human, and you made mistakes. Like when Kenny wandered onto some train tracks, apparently."  
  
"You really believe that nonsense?" Craig scoffed, pretending that he was talking about Kenny's train accident-related amnesia. Token nodded, because he knew that wasn't really what Craig was asking.  
  
"I do," Token said. "I really believe it."  
  
They had coffee together by the fire and shared less devastating South Park gossip. Kyle and Stan were buying a house three doors down from where Kyle's parents still lived. Butters was sleeping over at Cartman's house most nights, with the excuse of giving Norman a sense of security. Wendy was moving to Canada for a job at a university up there.  
  
"It's the newest trend," Craig said. "Leave South Park, leave the country. At least two of us escaped."  
  
"Oh, there's no escape," Token said, thinking of Clyde. What if he didn't turn up before Token left town? Before he left the country? "Me and Wendy just didn't find our soul mate here like you guys all did."  
  
"Don't be so sure," Craig said, peering into his coffee cup. Tweek was asleep, his head on Craig's thigh.  
  
"Clyde deserves a better soul mate than me," Token said.  
  
"You fool," Craig said, fondly, and he frowned. "That's basically what he was always saying about you."  
  
At two in the morning, Craig was sober enough to drive home. After he and Tweek had left, Token walked into the kitchen and had the sudden urge to sob pathetically, but it passed. He wondered if he should be angry with Craig, but he felt like Bebe did: he'd rather forgive and move on. He wanted to walk outside, into the woods, and call Clyde's name until he was found, though that probably wouldn't be productive. But what if he froze out there during the night, alone, and never knew how much Token had wanted him, worshiped him, needed him all along?  
  
Token headed toward bed, realizing with a bitter sting that Clyde wouldn't believe this if Token told him so now. But he might believe Craig.  
  
  
  


 


	7. Chapter 7

The morning was frigid, and Token realized as he struggled to leave his bed that he needed to adjust the thermostat. Vlad was like Kenny, sturdy and austere; he didn't need heat. Token took a very long, very hot shower, hoping Clyde was warm someplace and not sure if he hoped that he'd show up at the baby shower. When he got out he searched the house for a South Park phone book, thinking he might call Clyde's father and find out if he'd been staying there, but his parents didn't seem to own one, and surely Bebe had checked there first. 

Vlad heard him in the garage and showed up to offer his services as a driver, but Token wanted to drive himself, in part to make sure he wouldn't drink too much at this thing, if drinks would indeed be served. He had a bad feeling that they would at least be circulating, if not outright on offer. He chose the five-year-old BMW and headed toward Bebe's at one thirty in the afternoon, half an hour before the party was scheduled to begin. She'd texted him the night before, asking him to come early if he could. On the way there he stopped to get a card, then found an ATM and withdrew three hundred dollars to stuff into it. It was tacky, but he didn't have the time or presence of mind to hunt for an appropriate gift.

Bebe's mother greeted Token at the door as if he was a celebrity, taking his coat and fussing over him all the way into the kitchen, where Bebe was making favors out of pine saplings tied into burlap sachets full of dirt. 

"I never expected Token to stay in South Park," Bebe's mother said when she'd finished lamenting Token's infrequent trips back. "But we do miss you here! You always had the best manners of all of Bebe's boyfriends." She said this pointedly while delivering a cup of coffee to Token. He looked at Bebe and she shook her head very slightly. "Of course," Bebe's mother said. "I never expected Bebe to stay in South Park either, but here we all are." 

"I didn't stay," Bebe said. "I went to college. I made the choice to come back. I'm not in high school, mother. This isn't a teen pregnancy." 

"I'm not judging you, darling. What's done is done." 

"Have you heard from Clyde?" Token asked, desperate to change the subject.

"He texted me last night," Bebe said. Token was annoyed that she hadn't told him right away, but she still didn't know the extent of his feelings for Clyde, his gnawing worry. "He said he's going to leave the county, too. I think he was drunk," she said, more quietly.

"Who's leaving the country?" Bebe's mother asked. 

"Token is moving to Hong Kong for work." 

"Oh, what a shame! How tragic." 

"It's not tragic, Mom. He's been promoted. It's exciting." Bebe didn't sound convinced, staring at Token while she said this. 

"Just that we're losing him so completely," her mother said said. "And now Clyde, too? He's a strange one, but he has been very helpful since the baby's father ditched town."

"He didn't ditch town." Bebe cut her mother a furious look that made Token wish he'd ignored her request to come early. "He had an accident. And you don't have to call him 'the baby's father' like he's some mysterious figure from my past. His name is Kenny." 

"Honey, he's like those men who claim they've been abducted by aliens. He cannot be in this child's life. And he'd better not be at this party. Your father will have a fit." 

"Um, what did he mean?" Token asked, and Bebe turned back to him as if she was ready to defend Kenny to him, too. "Clyde," Token said. "What did he mean about leaving the country?" Token's heart was beating fast. That sounded dangerously close to a metaphor for checking out, generally. 

"I don't know. He didn't respond to my text asking him what he was talking about." 

"Oh. That's, like. Cause for concern." 

"Yes, it is. Token, are you alright? You seem like you're in a daze."

"Don't be crazy!" Bebe's mother said. "He looks great. What will you be doing in Hong King, sweetheart?"

"I work for Pfizer - risk management. They're expanding over there big time." Token didn't want to think about that right now, or anything but the fact that Clyde was floundering and nobody was trying hard enough to find him, himself included. 

He stood when he heard the front door open, hoping Clyde would come barreling through it. Instead, Butters walked in, hand in hand with Nelson. Cartman followed, carrying a gigantic wedding cake with pink trim. Upon closer examination, it was made out of diapers and ribbons, with a purple rattle tied on top. 

"I made you a diaper cake!" Butters announced as Bebe's mother ushered him into the kitchen. Nelson giggled. 

"Where do you want this thing?" Cartman asked. He blushed when he saw Token, as if embarrassed to be seen by present company while holding a cake made out of diapers. "Ey, you're here? What's with the trees?"

"They're party favors," Bebe said, tying a pink ribbon around another burlap sachet. "You plant them when the baby is born. So my daughter will have trees all over South Park that were planted in her honor." 

"That's a party favor?" Cartman scoffed. "Sounds like manual labor for nothing." 

"It's a lovely idea!" Butters said. "Me and Nelson will plant ours if you're too busy to do a nice thing, Eric." 

Token had to swallow down a surprised laugh. He'd never heard Butters give Cartman that kind of back talk, in that tone, and it was even more surprising when Cartman did nothing but frown slightly in response.

Kyle and Stan arrived shortly afterward, and they both looked surprised to see Token. They had two gifts: a box wrapped in expensive-looking trimmings and a giant stuffed bear with pale blue fur. 

"I was going to buy a pink one," Stan said, holding the bear. "Kyle mentioned that not all girls like pink." He smiled like this was genuinely the most thoughtful, incredibly sensitive observation he'd ever heard. 

"That's true," Token said. 

"You came all the way back here for a baby shower?" Kyle said. Token shrugged. 

"I'm leaving the country in three weeks," he said. "Probably won't be back for a year, so." 

"Whoa, dude," Stan said. He handed the bear to Kyle and stepped forward to give Token a tight hug, as if he'd just announced that he had terminal cancer. "That's a long time," Stan said. "Are you excited?" 

"Not really." Token peered at the front door. "Have you guys seen Clyde around?"

"We assumed he'd be here baking muffins or something," Kyle said. "He hovers around Bebe like a mosquito." 

"Hey, don't say that," Stan said. "They're friends. He's not sucking her blood." 

"You know what I mean," Kyle said, rolling his eyes. "Why are you asking? Clyde's late or something?"

"He's -- so you haven't seen him?"

"I did," Stan said, and Kyle looked annoyed by this information, which apparently had not been shared. Stan shrugged. "He was at the liquor store last night. Or Friday night? I don't know. He looked kind of fucked up." 

"How so?" Token asked, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets. 

"What was he buying?" Kyle asked, and Token gave him a look, but Kyle was staring at Stan. 

"Beer and Crown Royal," Stan said. "He was kind of a jerk, actually." 

"What did he say?" Token asked, feeling like he was working with slow witnesses on a very urgent kidnapping case. "You spoke?"

"He asked me if I knew Kenny was back in town. I said no, and he gave me this look like I was lying or something? I tried to ask him when Kenny had come back, and where he was, and Clyde wouldn't tell me. He said 'congratulations' and left."

"Jesus," Token said. He dug his phone from his pocket but couldn't bring himself to try calling Clyde again. He knew Clyde wouldn't answer, and the baby shower seemed to be starting, Bebe's mother beckoning everyone into the living room to partake of a pile of small sandwiches that she was carrying in on a tray.

Token couldn't pay attention to the small talk, or the sandwiches he was thoughtlessly consuming. They tasted like cold bread with indeterminable filling, no flavor beyond mayonnaise. He'd never liked mayonnaise; his parents had never served it, so it reminded him of being at school, where he'd forced himself to eat lunch from the cafeteria like the other kids for two years, during seventh and eighth grade. The food had been terrible, low-quality and poorly prepared, but it had been so important to him to fit in.

In the midst of a party game involving baby names that Token opted out of, the front door banged open. Token turned, expecting Kenny with an armload of sad but hopeful baby gifts, and he made a kind of punched-in-the-gut noise when he saw Clyde instead, looking haggard and unhinged. 

"Clyde!" Bebe said, rising from her seat on the couch with the help of Butters, who steadied her when she wobbled. "Finally," she said, looking a little frightened when Clyde lingered in the doorway, his expression stony. "You're here."

"I've got all your stuff out in the car," Clyde said. His eyes were bloodshot, and his clothes looked dirty. "Maybe Token could give me a hand with unloading it." 

"Stuff?" Bebe said. "What--"

"The crib and everything." Clyde was speaking louder than he needed to, and Token wanted to usher him gently away from this scene but couldn't seem to move. "All your stuff, and the baby stuff. Since Kenny's back now and everything." He said this as if it was an insult directed at Bebe, sharply. 

"Oh," she said. "Well. Thanks." 

"Yeah, so give me a hand." Clyde looked at Token and waved him toward the door. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet, maybe drunk. "It's all out here in the car."

"Clyde," Mrs. Stevens said, glancing at her husband. "Come in, have something to eat--"

"No thanks, I can't. Token?" 

"Um, yeah." Token looked around frantically for a place to put his empty paper plate. He ended up shoving it into Stan's hands. "Sure, I'll. Yeah."

"Where's Kenny?" Clyde barked. He was looking over Token's shoulder, asking Bebe. "Kenny's not here?"

"He wasn't invited," Bebe's father said. "Son, are you alright?"

"I'm not your son," Clyde said, and he walked out, leaving the door hanging open behind him. 

"Jesus," Cartman said. "That sad sack's gone full psycho. What happened to Clyde?"

"Nothing," Token said, following Clyde out. He wished he hadn't answered, because the way that came out felt incriminating, as if he'd admitted his role in what had happened to Clyde. 

Token cursed under his breath when he saw Clyde piling baby furniture onto the curb where he'd parked his car, at the edge of Bebe's parents' front yard. Clyde had no coat, and Token could see his panted breath in the freezing air. Token had left his own coat inside, but he didn't need it; he was sweltering under his clothes, adrenaline lighting fire after fire in his chest as he approached Clyde's meltdown. Here it was at last, featuring a full crowd of observers watching from the front window, complete with Cartman stuffing sandwiches into his face. 

"What are you doing here?" Clyde asked, not looking at Token as he tossed a pink diaper bag onto the disassembled parts of the crib that he'd piled in the yard. 

"You asked me to come out and help," Token said. 

"No, I meant. Here, in South Park."

"Bebe wanted me here. She was worried about you. Clyde, stop. Be still for a minute." 

"I don't have a lot of time," Clyde said. He started throwing smiling stuffed animals onto the pile, and Token's eyes got wet. "I'm leaving the country." 

"Oh. Where are you going?"

"I don't know. Somewhere far away. The air here is poison." Clyde laughed darkly and stopped unloading the car for a moment, staring down at the friendly stuffed cow in his hands. It had a pink felt bell tied around its neck. "I mean, I'm allergic to the air here. It's not poisonous to everyone, clearly. Just me."

"You're upset about Kenny."

"No, it's fine." Clyde tossed the the cow toward the pile, and Token caught it before it could land there. "She was never my girlfriend. I can't do girlfriends, you know that. So of course she didn't want to raise a kid with me. She could have told me that, you know, instead of letting me buy her all this stuff, but that's her prerogative if she wanted to use me for a while, because that's what people do here, in this town, they use me until they're done." 

"Stop," Token said, stepping closer. He just needed Clyde to look at him, to meet his eyes, but he wouldn't. "You know Bebe loves you. But Kenny was -- is -- he's the father of her child. She hasn't forgiven him yet, not completely--"

"Oh, yes, she has." Clyde laughed again. It sounded like some kind of imitation of Craig's dismissive laugh, and it was gruesome to hear it coming from Clyde, as if he was wearing someone else's face. "She's forgiven him, I can tell. Everybody gets forgiven except me. Even Craig. Why not? He's more fun than me, and so is Kenny, so--"

"Hey," Token said. He dropped the stuffed cow onto the pile and reached for Clyde, expecting a punch to the face. Clyde glared at him, and it hurt worse than the blow he'd anticipated. "Come inside," Token said. "It's cold out here." 

"I'm not going in there. With those fucking people." 

"Then let me take you to my place. I've got my car." 

"No, Token, don't leave their party on my account. I'm already gone, I'm just dropping off this stuff."

"Clyde, you're scaring me." Token tightened his grip and drew Clyde a little closer. He was still glowering, closed off, but he didn't fight free. "Talking like you're going away, like. I care about you, so much. I think about you every day, every-- I didn't know what to do."

"What? When?"

"After Thanksgiving. After New Year's Eve. Ever." 

"Yeah, you did." Clyde jerked in Token's hands, but he relented when Token held him steady. He smelled like bad whiskey and Windex. "You knew what to do. Stay out of it. Keep me at an arm's length. Craig should have, too. I hit him," Clyde said, his voice faltering a little. Token prayed he would cry. If Clyde cried, Token would know what to do: hold him, dry his cheeks, take him in out of the cold. 

"Craig wasn't very nice to you," Token said. "In fact, he was cruel. He told me that he gave you the idea I wasn't interested in you. That I wouldn't be, couldn't be. But I was. More than interested, I. I've been in love with you since we were kids, and I can't see you like this, I can't watch you rip all the soft stuff out of yourself and throw it on the ground."

Then it was Token who was crying, though only a little. His tears seemed to freeze at the corners of his eyes, and he bit the end of his tongue to transform the pain into something physical. It was an old trick from childhood that he hadn't used in a long time, and it didn't really work anymore. Clyde let out his breath and shook his head. 

"But you're not even here," Clyde said. "You're not anywhere, no place where I could have you. Bebe said you're moving to China." 

"I am. You could--" Token wiped his eyes clear, glad that he'd stopped himself before suggesting that Clyde could move to Hong Kong with him. He could, Token would like that, but it was absurd. They hadn't even had sex, really. Not with their heads above water, in the real world. 

"I thought we were going to be a family," Clyde said. His voice was flat now, tired. "Me and Bebe, and the baby. It was going to be something real, and normal, but I can't have that, ever. I get edged out by fucked up shit no matter how hard I try to be the better alternative. The safer bet. The one who shows up on time." 

"Come inside," Token said. "We'll get-- I'll get my coat, and you can borrow Stan's, or something, and then we'll finish loading this stuff out of the car. Okay? Come on, you're shivering."

"Kenny's really not there?" Clyde said, eying the house. He was stiff in Token's grip, and Token felt as if Clyde was in danger of freezing into an icy thing that could not be thawed. 

"He's not there," Token said. "Bebe's parents hate him, understandably. They don't buy his story about being hit by a train or whatever. I can't get my mind around it, either. C'mon, it's okay. Everybody in there loves you." 

"That's the thing," Clyde said. "It's this temporary, party guest love. I'm not like Craig. I get invited to things. But I always go home alone. Nobody wants me." 

Token shook his head. He cupped Clyde's cheeks and kissed him over the bridge of his nose, not caring that everyone was certainly seeing this from the front window. 

"I want you," Token said. "You should have always been mine."

Those words seemed to break some sort of spell, as if a sliver of enchanted mirror had fallen from Clyde's eye. Token had always loved the snow queen fairy tale, because he'd always wanted to be the kind of kid who climbed a mountain in the driving snow to save his friend, the one who warmed him up and brought him home. Clyde blinked rapidly and leaned against Token's chest, his hands going to Token's waist.

"The truth is," Clyde said, very quietly. "I'm afraid to leave town. I'm afraid I'd evaporate at the city limits. Outside of what's happened here, I'm not anything. Even for you, I'm just a memory."

"That's bullshit," Token said, though he had a point. "Can't you feel me? I'm standing right here. My hands aren't passing through you. This is happening here, now. We're not just shadows thrown by some fucked up night when we were kids."

"I want you to fuck me," Clyde said, whispering. 

"Um." Token glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, Cartman was at the window, Butters and Kyle flanking him while he ate from a plate loaded with little sandwiches and cheese cubes. "Okay," Token said, turning back to Clyde. He just wanted him out of the cold; he'd agree to anything. And it wasn't like he didn't want to feel Clyde moaning underneath him, even if he smelled like he smelled now, though preferably he would shower first.

"I think it would help," Clyde said. "If you were inside me. It's like I've been holding my breath since that night." 

"I know," Token said. There was no need to specify: it was that night, New Year's Eve, when they both stopped breathing. 

"I'll go inside if you agree to fuck me in the upstairs guest bathroom," Clyde said, and Token remembered abruptly that Clyde was in the middle of a nervous breakdown, that slivers of an evil queen's enchanted mirror didn't fall out so easily. 

"Okay," Token said, and he was alarmed to find that he was serious. He took Clyde's hand and they walked toward the house together, Clyde's shoulders lifting as if he had just begun to feel the cold. 

"Then we can bring that stuff inside," Clyde said, muttering. "And then you can go to China." 

"Clyde."

They reentered the house to complete silence. Everyone but Butters, who was entertaining Nelson, was staring at them. Clyde dropped Token's hand and stomped up the stairs to the second floor without saying a word.

"Um," Bebe said. She was crying, huddled in her mother's arms. "What's he doing?"

"He just wants to wash up," Token said, beginning to feel dizzy as he glanced around at all the incredulous expressions. "He's having a hard time." 

"Well, I think it's a goddamn shame," Bebe's father said. Bebe cringed, and Mrs. Stevens glared at her husband. "What?” he said, throwing out his arms. “That boy has every right to be angry. He stepped up to the plate when that other deadbeat left town."

"You don't understand!" Bebe said, shrieking this so loudly that Token worried that it couldn't be good for the baby. As Token hurried for the stairs he noticed Stan and Kyle attempting to make a stealthy exit, putting on their coats.

Upstairs, he tried to remember where the guest bathroom was. He found it across from her old bedroom, the door partially ajar. Clyde was inside, breathing heavily and unbuttoning his shirt. He had not put the light on.

"Hurry," Clyde said. "I'm evaporating."

"Clyde, hey. Slow down." Token shut the door behind him as he slipped inside. He put his hands on Clyde's, halting his unbuttoning. Clyde made a small, panicked noise, as if Token had just ripped a life preserver out of his hands.

"No, you said. I've been waiting so long, it has to be now." 

"Shhh," Token said, his heart cracking. He couldn't do this, but he also couldn't not do it. The eternal conundrum of Clyde. He leaned in to kiss Clyde softly, disturbed by how badly his lips were shaking. He knew there was no way he would be able get hard, even as he coaxed Clyde's lips apart and warmed them with his own, their tongues sliding together uncertainly. Clyde sighed and went so limp that Token had to back him up against the wall and prop him there. 

"Do it like I'm still me," Clyde said. "From back then. No, do it like Craig was never in me. Like you never saw him do all those things to me."

"Baby," Token said, whispering this against Clyde's cheek. He pressed his palm to Clyde's neck, could feel his pulse hammering. "I want to help you." 

"Then fuck me, like I said." Clyde ripped at his shirt, buttons flying off as he tore it open. "I don't care if they hear. I want them to. I guess I get off on that. I used to hate it when you watched me with him, but I got so fucking hard for it, I came so fucking hard from the shame." 

"Clyde." Token was crying again; he could hear footsteps on the stairs. 

"That's me," Clyde said. His eyes were wet, too, but he was smiling. He looked insane. "That's who I am, Craig's spare slut. Sometimes I still jerk off to the memory of how he ruined me. And you watching, always with you watching."

"Fuck," Token said, sobbing it out. He pulled Clyde against him and hugged him hard. He was crying hard but silently onto Clyde's shoulder when Mrs. Stevens started knocking. 

"Boys?" she said. "Token? Is Clyde in there with you? Is everything okay?"

"It's okay!" Clyde answered, sounding cheerful. "We'll be gone in a minute!" 

"Oh?" She sounded confused. Token was, too, unless Clyde meant that they could evaporate together now. "Bebe's very upset, Clyde," she said. "I wish you would speak to her." 

"Kenny can do that for me," Clyde said. He was stroking Token's hair, rocking him a little. "I'm sorry," he said, whispering this into Token's ear. "I waited too long. I know you can't do it. It's too late. I knew it even when we were outside. I think I knew it even that night. You didn't really want to be inside me, even then. I don't blame you, okay? I hate being in here." 

Clyde let him go and walked for the door. Token was ashamed to realize that he could still manage to be embarrassed by his tears, even as wrecked as he was, when Clyde opened the door and strode past Mrs. Stevens, toward the stairs. 

"Just tell her--" Mrs. Steven said, and then she saw Token trying and failing to stop sobbing. "Oh, honey," she said, bringing her hand to her ample chest. "What's wrong?"

Token tried to make his voice work, to tell her to stop Clyde, that he couldn't get away again, and that if he did it would be the last time anyone saw him. He heard the front door slam and rushed into the hallway, down the stairs. 

He took them too fast, missed one, and ended up in a heap in the foyer, crying out with a different kind of pain. As the others rushed over, asking him a thousand questions, only two things really reached in past the pain in his ankle and registered. One of them was Nelson starting to cry in the living room, saying that he was scared. The other was the sound of Clyde's car peeling away outside, all of the smiling stuffed animals he'd invested in left piled out there in the cold. 

*

Token's ankle wasn't broken, only badly sprained, and he was ferried home by Vlad after less than two hours at the emergency room. Clyde was missing again, answering nobody's calls. Token had avoided contacting Craig during his time at the hospital, out of a kind of stale solidarity with Clyde, but once he was alone in the house there was nobody else he wanted to talk to. 

“Emergency,” Token said when Craig answered, and he hated how broken he sounded. 

“Oh, fuck,” Craig said, hearing it. “We-- nobody's dead, are they?”

“Not yet.” 

“Okay, we're coming. You're at your house?”

“Yes. Hurry.”

Token hovered near the bar in the living room, trying to decide if it would be the best or worst idea to have a drink. It was early evening, the sun disappearing. He poured himself a shallow glass of vodka and drank it, not expecting it to help. 

Craig and Tweek listened patiently while Token told them what had happened at the baby shower. Token repeated everything that Clyde had said, as faithfully as he could. Tweek whimpered several times, and he had his hands over his face by the end. Craig was staring into space, his lips slightly parted.

“I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad,” Token said. “Craig. I just. I need to know where he is.”

“And you think I know?” Craig's eyes flashed, but he quickly just looked exhausted. “I don't – know him, Token, I never knew what I was doing, how he works. I can't tell you where he'd go after saying things like that.”

“Oh, god,” Tweek said, standing. He pulled at his hair and made a kind of train whistle noise at the back of his throat. “Clyde, oh my god, he's-- we drove him insane!”

“You didn't do anything,” Craig snapped, so dismissively that Token wanted to object.

“Should we call the police?” Token asked. Craig snorted.

“And tell them what? Our friend is laying down his judgment of us at last, and throwing nursery décor in his fake girlfriend's yard? He didn't say he would kill himself. Did he?”

“He talked about evaporating, Craig. He said he's 'leaving the country,' but he doesn't know where he's going. He looked so hollow.”

Token had seen Clyde deeply hurt before, and it was brutal to behold, but nothing had ever hurt as badly as seeing all that emptied out, that new blankness that wasn't just a shield. Clyde had never learned how to manufacture his own armor. He'd tried to borrow Bebe's, and it had left him worse than unguarded, totally naked. 

It was almost eight o'clock when the doorbell rang, and they were all sitting in the living room with empty glasses that had once contained their first drinks of the evening, the fireplace cold. Token bolted for the door, and for the second time that day he was expecting Kenny.

For the second time that day, he was faced with Clyde instead. 

“Hi,” Clyde said when Token gaped at him, blinking ten times to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Clyde looked sheepish, had bags under his eyes. He smelled like soap; he'd shaved.

“Jesus!” Token shouted, grabbing Clyde. He hugged him so hard that he felt guilty, like he might hurt Clyde with the force of his relief, but he couldn't let him go. “What the fuck?” Token said, and he wanted to take it back instantly; Clyde had every right to terrify them however he saw fit. He met Token's eyes shyly when Token pulled back to look at him. “Thank god you're okay,” Token said. He gave Clyde a gentle shake, then started kissing him all over his face.

“Don't do that,” Clyde said, and Token stopped. He could feel Craig and Tweek behind him, watching this play out in silence, and he felt like shielding Clyde from them when his gaze crept over Token's shoulder. “Hey, guys,” Clyde said. “Can I come in?”

It was like he was asking Craig. Token scoffed but waited, along with Clyde, to hear Craig's answer. 

“Please,” Craig said. Token could hear the tightness in his voice, a hope so strained that it must have been painful. “Make yourself at home.”

“I won't stay long,” Clyde said, and he squeezed Token's arm as he crossed in front of him, into the foyer. “I wanted. Bebe called, she said. You're worried.” 

“You spoke to her?” Token said, furious. “She didn't – she knows I've been freaking out—”

“I talked to her just now,” Clyde said, gesturing toward the front door with his thumb. “I, uh. I'm sorry.” He looked at Token, glanced at Craig and Tweek, and touched the back pockets on his jeans. He'd changed into clean clothes. All of this was hitting Token slowly, and he couldn't quite keep up with his recovering nerves. The shock of Clyde being here and looking like himself again was like a nourishing morsel at the back of his throat, something he was trying and failing to swallow. “I'd had a lot to drink,” Clyde mumbled, glancing at Token again. “I shouldn't have been driving.” 

“Well, no one died,” Craig said. He shuffled when everyone looked at him, and Token could see him suck his stomach in when he straightened his posture. “It happens.” 

“Not to me,” Clyde said. “This isn't me. I haven't felt like myself in a long time.” 

“It's okay,” Token said, wanting to kiss his face again. “Everyone, we. We're here for you.”

“But you're not,” Clyde said, smiling down at Token's shoes. “And that's okay. It's not your job. Craig, even. You, you're not. It's bigger than you and how. Things were, so. I'm sorry I hit you.” 

Craig said nothing. From the corner of his eye, Token could see him shimmering like the horizon on a highway blacktop, trying to be solid, trying not to break apart. 

“I'm gonna go away for a while,” Clyde said, and he sighed. “To Holland, to stay with my mom's family over there. I really think I need a scenery change, and they've been begging me to visit since she died. I shouldn't have acted like I wanted to marry Bebe. I didn't, really. That wasn't fair to her, and. I just wanted to apologize to everybody before I leave. I'm fucking embarrassed.” 

“Clyde!” Tweek shouted, and then he was zipping across the foyer. Token almost wanted to bat him away, not wanting anything to interfere with Clyde's suggestion of recovery, but Clyde held his arms out and Tweek ran into them, moaning. “I was so worried!” Tweek said, holding on tight, his voice muffled against Clyde's shoulder. “I'm so sorry! We were assholes!”

“You weren't,” Clyde said.

“That's right,” Craig said. “You weren't. I was the asshole, Tweek. The abuser, actually, I believe, is the term.” 

“Craig,” Clyde said. “I loved you.” 

It hurt to hear that, until Token saw the way it washed over Craig. Clyde let go of Tweek, who stepped away as if to make way for Craig's dashing hug. Craig stayed in place, clenching his fists. 

“What the hell is this?” Craig said. “Don't rewrite history. You can't reinvent the past just because you're losing your shit and running away to Holland. I wish I could run away to fucking Holland. Jesus, how nice for you! And Token's going to China. That's great, have fun, come back enlightened. I'll be here selling gyros and getting fatter, blaming myself for everything that's gone wrong in your lives. Enjoy!”

“Craig,” Clyde said. “Come here.” 

“What so you can hit me again?” Craig was losing it now, and Token was glad he'd already cried himself out for the day, and that he'd had some painkillers at the hospital that were still making him feel fuzzy enough not to absorb all of this like a knifing. His ankle was starting to ache, and he wasn't supposed to be standing unless absolutely necessary, but this felt absolutely necessary.

“Jesus,” Clyde said, staring at Craig. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. I know that's partly my fault, for acting like all my bad decisions were your fault. I thought of you as this, like, hypnotist. But seeing Bebe go back to Kenny, even after what he put her through, it made me realize. You just can't help it when you want something that much. Someone. And you were the easy one to want.” Clyde looked at Token and flinched toward him but didn't move. He frowned when he noticed the bootie on Token's ankle. “What's that?” he asked.

“You've gravely injured Token,” Craig said, starting to cry. Token scoffed.

“It's just a sprain,” he said. “I'll still. It shouldn't delay my move.”

Clyde held Token's gaze for a long time. He nodded, and Token saw his throat bob when he swallowed. He pictured Clyde amongst tulips, windmills, kind relatives who would brush his bangs off his forehead and tell him he looked so much like his mother. 

“I never thought I'd see you cry,” Clyde said, and he turned to Craig, who was letting Tweek hug him. 

“Well,” Craig said. “Congratulations. Your campaign of terror has paid off.”

Clyde laughed and crossed the foyer toward Craig. Token felt left out as he watched Clyde throw his arms around both Craig and Tweek, but he knew this was something else, an auxiliary tragedy that he had only experienced from afar, and that his turn would come later. 

“You guys,” Clyde said. “You tried. I just always felt like Gulliver on the island with the little people. But that wasn't really your fault.” 

“Is this a comment on the fact that you have the biggest dick?” Craig said, sniffling. “Between the three of us?”

“Yes,” Clyde said, and Craig actually laughed. Clyde let go and turned to Token. He looked so tired, and Token remembered how hard Clyde had tried to keep everybody happy, all the time, how much it had meant to him that nobody in the group felt left out, or hurt, or bored. 

“What the fuck?” Token said, unable to hold it in. “Don't pretend you're okay. Stop.”

“I'm not pretending,” Clyde said. “I'm still totally fucked up. But I'm going to do something about it. I've got to stop sitting around South Park, waiting to get saved.”

“I was going to save you,” Token said, glad again for the fading painkiller haze. A part of him was crying, hard, again, but without actually shedding tears or quaking with sobs. Clyde ran to him as if he saw this and landed hard, a kind of football-tackle of a hug. Token absorbed this gladly and held on, closing his eyes so tightly that Craig and Tweek seemed to disappear. They couldn't see him, or Clyde, not really. They had evaporated into each other, but it was temporary. 

“I like the idea of us both being far from here,” Clyde said. “At the same time. Me and you.”

“You won't evaporate,” Token said, whispering. “What I always loved about you, why you were the first boy I wanted? It's that you're so solid. So fucking big. I used to lie next to you in bed, on those mornings, and pray that you'd roll over so I could feel that weight pressing in, and your heavy arm on my side. And you always did, man, you never didn't want me to hold you. I should have fucking known.”

“I should have, too,” Clyde said, and he kissed Token's ear. He pulled back to look at Craig and Tweek, waving to them as if he was on a ship that was already sailing away from their shore. He turned to Token and stopped smiling. “I won't be gone long,” he said, as if this would only be true for Token. 

Token went to the door to watch Clyde walk out to Bebe's car. She was in the driver's seat, and she waved when Token saw her. He waved back, not sure which planet he was on. All he knew was that she would ferry Clyde to the place where he needed to go: all the way to Holland if she had to, but Clyde could probably get there himself if she took him as far as the airport. Token wouldn't have believed that three hours earlier, but he had felt it when Clyde fell into his arms. Clyde was leaving South Park: it was a weight lifted from him, one that he'd mistaken for evaporation at first. Token could relate.

He turned back to see Craig emerging from the living room, holding a freshly mixed drink. Craig took a sip from it and walked forward to pass it to Token, who drank without asking or caring what it was. Craig smiled, his eyes still red-rimmed. 

“The night is young,” Craig said, but they were all asleep within the hour, on the couch in Token's grand living room while a cartoon they had watched as kids played on the big TV, a rerun that was almost as old as they were.


End file.
